Friends Forever
by Isys
Summary: [Ron/Hermione, Harry/Hermione] {In Progress} How far will Hermione go to keep her friendship with Harry and Ron together?
1. The Seventh Year

**Friends Forever**  
_by Isys_

Disclaimer:  
This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

Rating:  
Strictly PG-13. 

Category:  
Your basic love potion. Romance, hints of angst and everything that comes with it... 

E-mail:  
My first attempt at romance, so any comments and constructive criticisms are welcome! E-mail me. 

Summary:  
This takes place during Hermione's last year, specifically because, in my opinion, this Ron-Harry-Hermione issue can be best resolved here. The six years of memories are not for nothing. It's best friendship vs. happiness for Hermione. Your guess is as good as mine. ^_~ 

* * *

**Chapter One - The Seventh Year**

_Accurate and precise calculations should be made on each point of the rune chart to make it valid for use. To attain the proper balance between each rune and its relative proportion..._

Hermione let out a groan of defeat and dropped her head on the open Arithmancy book before her. How many times had she read that certain paragraph? Five? Ten? 

Way less than a hundred, that was for sure. 

She absently ran her hand through her light brown hair, watching the silky, magically-straightened strands slide between her fingers. It had already been two years since she'd gotten her usual bushy hair straightened to sleek, shiny finish, but it never failed to amaze her how different it was from the curly hairstyle she'd held on to for five long years. 

And it was that amount of time she was going to take studying if she didn't stop brooding. 

A wave of regret washed over her. It had seemed like such a good idea to take up the most advance course of Arithmancy Hogwarts had to offer for her final year, but to put it alongside _Advanced_ Defense Against the Dark Arts and _Advanced_ Transfiguration was slowly becoming like a living hell. She teetering at the edge of messing up big time, and Hermione Granger just didn't mess up. Under normal circumstances, that is. 

However, the situation at hand was far from normal. 

Oh, her seventh year had started off pretty well, she had to admit. She was appointed Head Girl, and, to her utter delight and uneasiness, Harry had been appointed Head Boy. There wasn't anything wrong with him, really - he'd gotten a lot more serious with his schoolwork and had obviously matured over the past several years - but being the two lead students of the school meant they had to spend quite a lot of time with each other. Both of them knew better, so they swore to keep their relationship as Head Boy and Girl strictly professional. 

Supposedly, anyway. 

It wasn't until the time that Hermione noticed how Harry always took time out to walk her to her extra classes, accompany her on trips to Hogsmeade, and manage to hold her hand every single day that Hermione had started becoming exceedingly uncomfortable. 

Then Harry dropped the bomb and confessed to Hermione after their weekly meeting with Professor McGonagall. His words still ran through her mind despite all of the work she was desperately trying to bury herself in. _"I know we've promised to keep this under professional terms, Hermione, but if there's still a chance for us, I'm all for taking it..."_

Taken by shock, Hermione's mouth had acquired a mind of its own and blurted out that she'd give him her decision by Friday night. Just two days away. _Why hadn't I just simply put my foot down and said that I'm not interested?_ she wailed inwardly. _Now I'm punishing myself by wallowing in gloom when I'm supposed to be studying... dammit._

_Because you_ are_ interested, Granger,_ responded that snide little voice at the back of her head before she could clamp it down with her usual stubborness and grit. 

Even if she was, there was one thing she could be sure of - her heart already belonged to someone else. 

Ron. 

Her feelings were evidently clear, and the memories she had with Ron were definitely not worth throwing away for any price. Temporarily forgetting the voluminous Arithmancy book staring up at her, she smiled for what seemed the first time in days, recalling as times spent with Ron flooded her mind. Sneaking into Hogsmeade in the middle of the night to steal their last stash of Hogsmeade's best chocolate, tampering with Draco Malfoy's speech so that he'd lose against Harry in the presidential elections, spending hours without sleep worrying about Harry every time he'd disappear to who-knows-where to face Voldemort... the list was endless, actually. 

To make a long story short, she had Ron Weasley to thank for letting her see her school life through another angle other than the typically serious, black-and-white "Hermione Granger" way. 

But it wasn't Ron, the boy she'd spent practically her entire life at Hogwarts with, who was falling all over her feet. It was Harry. A part of Hermione was flattered at his courage and honesty to tell her directly, another was wishing that it was Ron instead. 

And the last part was wondering what the hell was she doing thinking about her unresolved love life when she had three more _long_ chapters to read. 

Damn, why couldn't Ron just drop his stupid chess board for once in his life and talk to her, so that this matter could be fixed? 

_Thanks a lot, Weasley,_ she thought bitterly. 

The caustic voice spoke up again, to Hermione's annoyance. _Isn't it so obvious?_ it sneered. Hermione could almost see it with its hands on its hips, glaring at her with about as much warmth as an ice cube. She suppressed a chuckle. It reminded her so much of herself. 

It was right. The choice was leering right in front of her, scolding her for not noticing it sooner. 

With a long-suffering sigh, she reopened her book and started shifting the glossy pages for the right chapter. 

* * *

The next day was definitely not one of Hermione's best ones. 

"Miss Granger, this has been the third time I've called your attention," Professor Vector, a rather small witch who was her Arithmancy teacher, reprimanded her in a surprisingly patient voice for someone who had to bear with a student inattentively staring off to space. "Is there something so important that it ranks first in your priorities before your studies?" 

Hermione, who had been distraught from the beginning of the lesson and had been listlessly doodling on a blank page of her notebook, looked up both with surprise and guilt. So far, she'd managed to catch on with the lesson, no thanks to the hours she'd spent poring over chapter after chapter of _Numerology and Grammatica Volume Six_, but the usual page after page of notes that she, as a rule, had always kept were reduced to five or six phrases. 

Merlin's beard, this was _not_ good. 

Composing her features to a studious, interested expression, Hermione held her quill poised over a clean page, trying to avoid the dubious looks her classmates were aiming at her direction. Ron and Harry in particular. "I beg your pardon, Professor. It won't happen again." 

Professor Vector wasn't ready to let her off the hook so easily, however. "That's the third time you've told me that as well," she pointed out. 

"I know, Professor, but it will be the last, I assure you," Hermione insisted. 

Her hold on her quill relaxed with relief as Professor Vector picked up her wand to resume the lesson. "I certainly hope so, Miss Granger. You should be lucky that you are fortunate enough to still have my trust. Had it been otherwise, I would have immediately deducted ten points from Gryffindor." 

The last sentence drew a few titters from the students. Hermione resisted the urge to smirk right back at their faces. "Thank you, Professor. You can count on it, I promise." 

"Good. Now, getting back to what we were discussing..." 

But it wasn't long before Hermione's mind tuned out her teacher's voice and started drifting to other things. Such as the expression on Harry's face as he looked at her from her right. He hadn't been overtly concerned, but there was a strange worry in his eyes that hadn't been on the other students'. Geez, the last thing she needed was for him to worry about her bizarre behavior! Especially if he found out that it was because of him... 

_Life is so unfair,_ she almost cried out resentfully. _Why do all of these things have to come, and _now_, of all times?_ Didn't she have enough burdens to shoulder already? 

"I need a break," she muttered to herself, setting down her quill after trying unsuccessfully to take down what Professor Vector was saying. Dropping her chin on her hands, she let her eyes close for a second. Arithmancy was never boring, but she was just so, so tired... All-night studying was not doing her any good... 

_Wake up and start moving, Granger!_ she commanded herself, but she couldn't find enough energy to pick herself up and get into gear. 

"Just a minute," she told herself drowsily. _There's no way I'm falling asleep,_ she thought sternly. 

_No way... I'm falling... asleep..._

* * *

_The wind was howling a terrible hurricane, the waves savagely crashing against the coast. Far out into the sea, Hermione was stranded, curled up helplessly on top of an... Arithmancy book? Well, whatever it was, it wasn't much help. The water was tossing it about like a beach ball. _

"Somebody help!" she tried to scream, but her calls were drowned by an ear-splitting crash of thunder. She blinked through the rain splattering her cheeks, mingling in with her tears. The rain was steadily pouring heavier and heavier, and any sort of land was miles away. Sputtering as she choked on the salty water, she tried to squint through the storm for any sign of a boat, land, something, anything! 

Just as she was giving up hope on ever making it to shore, a familiar voice emerged from the wind whistling in her ears. "Hermione! Over here!" 

She looked up to see Harry, perched on his Firebolt, suspended above her and reaching out his hand. "Harry!" she gasped, getting to her feet. "Oh my god, thank God you came!" Shivering both from the cold and from relief, she reached out to take his outstretched hand. 

Before she could pull herself onto his broomstick, another voice rang out. "Hermione! I'm here!" 

Stunned, she whirled around. There was Ron, driving what looked like a chess board transformed into a small dinghy. He was paddling furiously towards her, totally oblivious to the angry waves and the heavy rain. 

Harry was almost hanging by his legs as he tried to reach her. "Hermione, come on!" he yelled. His broomstick was wavering in the air, fighting desperately against the wind. 

Oh, no..._ Hermione was petrified with shock. Who was she supposed to go with now? She squeezed her eyes shut and begged her mental voice, one that she'd always ignored, to help her now. _Please help me... I can't possibly choose on my own!_ she pleaded. _

Painful, echoing silence. 

"Hermione!" Ron shouted. "Hold on!" 

Her fragile composure shattered to pieces. "No, stop!" she shrieked, shielding her face from the wind threatening to render her deaf. Didn't they know how torn she was, forced to decide between her two best friends? Sobbing unrestrainedly, she fell to her knees, shaking violently as icy cold water soaked her to bone. 

"Hermione!" Harry's Firebolt was fast being thrown off course. If he didn't take Hermione now, there was a serious chance that he'd be heading straight into the sea as well. 

"No! Stop it!" 

* * *

"Don't, please, no!" Hermione screamed, thrashing back and forth on her seat, her hair in a total disarray. She would have fallen off her seat hadn't it been for Harry taking her by the shoulders and shaking her awake. 

"Hermione! Hey, it's just a dream, wake up!" 

Hermione's eyes popped open, meeting Harry's with a frightened gaze. The terrified look on those beautiful orbs tugged at his heart. He'd never seen Hermione look so vulnerable, so exhausted and withdrawn. She was staring right at him as though he was a transparent piece of glass, her watery stare seemingly going through him. Her fingers clutched the sleeves of his robes, almost as if fearing that he'd vanish if she let go. 

"A dream?" she repeated, her eyes widening with disbelief before she broke down again. 

Hastily, Harry broke the eye contact. Seeing her like this, so defenseless and fatigued, made him want so badly to simply take her in his arms and let her cry. Let her do anything, just as long as he could stay by her side and hold time still for eternity. Instead, he gently loosened her grip on his sleeve and brushed her tears away, the tender caress of his fingers holding the same intimacy as a lover. 

It took Harry exactly 2.4 seconds to realize the enormity of what he'd done. He cringed inwardly as Hermione recoiled at his touch, gaping at Harry as though he had stung her. 

_I deserved that,_ he admitted, wanting to Disapparate right at that moment. _Gods, what was I_ thinking? 

He smiled to himself ruefully. _I guess that's the price to pay when you fall in love with someone..._

That smile vanished the instant Professor Vector appeared at Hermione's side, consoling the crying girl. There wasn't anything he wanted more than to take Hermione's hand and apologize for acting like an idiot, for staging some stupid sort of parody of a love story with the whole of Gryffindor watching. His bravado crumbling, he sank back onto his seat, averting his eyes carefully. 

His notebook was open to the page where he'd scribbled Hermione's name about a thousand times and enclosed it in numerous hearts. It was futile trying not to think of her, especially of her condition just a few minutes ago. She looked so ready to bury her face in his robes and needed so much to be held. 

_Stop it!_ he ordered himself. Mechanically, he ripped off the page bearing the sea of Hermione's, crumpled it in his fist, and stuffed it into his pocket. 

Finally, Hermione's sobs subsided, and Harry heard the professor speak to her softly yet sternly. As though in a trance, Hermione nodded mutely and began gathering her things into her bag. 

The whole affair had taken less than two minutes, yet the class was all eyes for it. Professor Vector had to let loose a shower of fireworks for them to pay attention. But Harry was too tense to listen as Hermione swept away, the cold, unbelieving look in her eyes when he had touched her painfully etched into his mind. 

* * *

The white ceiling of the hospital wing spun crazily until it slowed into focus. Hermione groaned, massaging her aching head. It hadn't stopped throbbing ever since she'd entered the hospital wing to have the sleep Professor Vector had told her to take. The Sleeping Potion renewed her energy, but her mind was still occupied with the dream she had, and Harry's gestures. The storm was so vivid, playing out in her head as though she'd actually _been_ there. 

_What could have happened if I didn't wake up? Who would I have chosen?_ she asked herself silently. 

Then she remembered Harry waking her, telling her soothingly that it was just a dream, that everything was all right. The temptation to succumb to his embrace was so strong that Hermione had nearly relented, the only thing stopping her was her pride. The Hermione she knew never cried in public, much less sobbed into someone's arms. 

_He was so kind... so warm..._ Hermione couldn't help thinking as she recalled the tender way he comforted her - and wiped her tears away, like - like - 

Like some kind of potential boyfriend! 

"Who did he think he was?" Hermione cried out loud, bolting up like a jackknife. 

The curtain separating her bed from the rest of the hospital wing parted, revealing Madame Pomfrey. Standing in her shadow was the head of Gryffindor house. Hermione suddenly felt very small under their penetrating gazes. Oh, boy, did she have a lot of explaining to do. 

Fortunately, the two seemed to understand her predicament. Laying a hand on her forehead, Madame Pomfrey turned to Professor McGonagall. "No fever, but she's dead on her feet. I would recommend a full day's rest here." 

_What the -_ Hermione turned her pleading eyes to McGonagall. "No, I can't!" she protested, fisting the sheets so tightly that her knuckles turned white. "I have a lot of work to do, and we have a meeting with..." Her voice trailed off as McGonagall took a deep breath to start speaking. Madame Pomfrey quietly slipped away. 

Sober couldn't even quite cover the expression on McGonagall's face. She sat at the foot of the bed. "Miss Granger," she began. "Professor Vector reported to me a rather unlikely event during her Arithmancy class." She paused, allowing the full weight of her look to bear down on the Head Girl. "Is it true that you fell asleep in class and had quite an unfortunate dream?" 

Seeing no other alibi, Hermione nodded. 

"Before that, you had seemed fairly troubled as well that she had to call for your attention thrice," McGonagall went on. 

Hermione hung her head. Her situation had never seemed so shameful until now. 

"It's terribly out of your character to act in such a way. Is there anything wrong?" 

"'Anything wrong' is an understatement," Hermione said under her breath. 

"I beg your pardon?" McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Is your duty as Head Girl too strenuous for you to take, along with keeping up with your classes? Because if this is the reason, I can take the issue to your - " 

"No!" Hermione exclaimed. If McGonagall even tried considering Hermione's competence, she was nuts. Clearing her throat, she lowered her voice enough to talk civilly. "I'm sorry for lashing out like that, Professor, but no, this has nothing to do with my responsibilities. Out of due respect, Professor, I know you want more of an answer, but this is as much as I can possibly give you." 

McGonagall released her breath, clearly relieved. "I could request that our weekly meeting with the Headmaster be postponed, if you wish," she offered. 

Hermione shook her head. "That wouldn't be necessary," she said politely but firm enough to let McGonagall know she wasn't allowing herself to lie in bed like a weakling the whole day. "I'll talk to Professor Dumbledore myself." 

* * *

As though sleepwalking, Hermione walked through the hallways of Hogwarts. Sunlight filtered through the paned windows, bathing the halls with a warm, golden glow. Everything seemed more alive in the castle every morning. _It's so beautiful... so comfortable..._

Then she laughed to herself bitterly. "Wish I could say the same for me," she grumbled. 

If talking to McGonagall had her _that_ fidgety, then she had nothing to say for Dumbledore. Although she trusted him to a length that she wouldn't give anyone else, the image of wisdom and power perpetually instilled in those blue eyes of his was not a little overwhelming. Almost automatically, she turned into the hallway that would lead up the stairs towards the North Wing, where Dumbledore's office was located... 

... and almost ran smack into Harry, who was hurrying along the corridor as well. His emerald green eyes widened at the sight of her. Hermione returned his look coolly, not nearly forgetting that he was a major cause of her breakdown in Arithmancy class. 

Neither had Harry forgotten. "Hermione, I - I want to ask your forgiveness, for the way I acted during Arithmancy," he said sincerely. The genuineness of his apology was almost tangible that Hermione's expression softened. 

"I acted out of line," he continued, his eyes filled with guilt. "And I promise that nothing like that would ever happen again. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?" 

Hermione's anger evaporated almost immediately. She looked at him earnestly, rekindling the friendly affection she'd always felt for him. "Just having this settled is enough." 

"I can't thank you enough," Harry said, obviously reprieved. "Anyway, I've got to go, I've got McGonagall next." He reached for her hand and squeezed it, and this time, Hermione felt the warmth of their friendship instead of the uneasiness that had always lingered when they were alone. Hermione smiled and made to leave, her spirits lifted slightly. 

Just slightly, though. Even though that was done, she still had the unavoidable rendezvous with him on Friday night. Forcing it out of her mind, she ascended the stairs and stopped in front of the stone gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's door. 

"Maraschino cherry," she deadpanned. Honestly, what was it with Dumbledore and Muggle passwords? Not that she would object, though, she thought, as the gargoyle sprang to life and moved aside for her to enter. She knocked softly on the closed door. 

"Enter." 

Hermione entered the room quietly and approached the Headmaster's table where he was in the middle of writing a letter. He put down his quill and turned to her, light glinting off his half-moon spectacles. "I have been expecting to see you, Miss Granger." 

Hermione suddenly had the impression of ice blue lasers searing through herself like needle through cloth. Steeling her nerves, she seated herself on one of the chairs. "I'm sorry, Professor, if I've disturbed you or anything - " 

"Not at all," he said dismissively. "Significant matters - such as those concerning my Head Boy or Head Girl - are not to be taken lightly." 

_That McGonagall has one hell of mouth, really, spreading news like wildfire,_ remarked her mental voice dryly. And for once Hermione had to agree. 

"Assuming that you know what I speak of," Dumbledore said, interrupting Hermione's thoughts. "I'd like to believe that the early morning incident is something personal." 

If Dumbledore had the ability to read minds, then he was doing a very good demonstration of it right now. Hermione squirmed uncomfortably in the chair. "It is," she admitted. 

"Well, if you would want someone to talk to, you can tell me." 

Someone to talk to. What Hermione wouldn't give for someone to confide in, to have someone listen! Throwing caution to the winds, she simply told Dumbledore everything. At first, her feelings, her frustrations from the past week came so fast and furious that she could hardly make sense of them, and she didn't think Dumbledore could, either. But he remained silent until she finished telling him about the stress of taking a lot of classes, working with Harry after his confession, and, reluctantly, her feelings for Ron. 

For a minute, silence hung like a mist, and Dumbledore just sat quietly, as though trying to digest everything Hermione had said. 

_Good for you, proud one. You've actually confided in someone,_ praised the little voice in her head sardonically. Hermione's lips quirked at that one, but at the same time, the voice gave her a strange sense of security, as though talking to Dumbldore would make everything all right. 

When he did speak, his question completely caught her off-guard. He met her eyes directly. 

"How much do you believe in your heart, Miss Granger?" 

Hermione flinched visibly. She hadn't been expecting the impact the question would have on her. "N-not much, really," she managed to say. 

"Well, I can't dictate where your loyalties lie," Dumbledore said, his voice hinting at wisdom over the ages. "But this I can tell you - there isn't a logical, rational way to look at love. If you are making a decision, thinking about it will not help entirely. Love is a double-edged sword, if you must know." 

"I don't quite understand - what you mean, sir." 

"Try to look at it this way," Dumbledore suggested. "Who do you think would be better as a friend," he paused, emphasizing the word "friend". " - and who do you thing would be better as someone to love?" 

The truth of Dumbledore's words was slowly dawning on her. He was right, she realized with a sinking feeling. All the hours she'd spent trying to decide who she was right for was partly time wasted - she'd totally forgotten to think of who was right for _her_. The little voice that she'd always pushed aside had been right after all - she'd been so very proud and self-centered. 

The feeling was something to swallow. All those six years she'd spent at Hogwarts, and the memories that came along were always, somehow, pushed to one side. She could only quite remember their adventures with the Sorcerer's Stone, the countless visits to Hogsmeade, and the number of times they snuck around Hogwarts under Harry's Invisibility cloak. She'd allowed herself to let go of them over the years... to compete with everyone else and be the best for all of them to see. 

Almost guiltily, she eyed the Headmaster's room, recalling the times she, Ron, and Harry had sat there, talking to Professor Dumbledore. Dumbledore, once, had been a friend. Now, he was just her Headmaster, and she his student. 

Funny how it was so difficult for her to understand a concept that most seventeen-year-olds would normally take to hand easily. Was love really that complicated, or was she just so far behind? 

So many questions needed answering, but Hermione knew that the discussion - and her own inner demons - were finally resolved. And she'd won. 

"I - I think I understand," she said slowly before saying gratefully, "Thank you very much, Professor," as she rose to her feet. "Your advice has been invaluable, and I thank you for listening." 

"It has been a long time, Miss Granger." 

A long time. He was right. Six years was quite a lot, now that she thought about it. 

* * *


	2. The Day After The Night Before

**Friends Forever**  
_by Isys_

_"How to choose between the sun and moon?  
Which is better - May or June?  
You make me dream; he makes me smile  
But triangle love is not my style.  
Two in love is what should be.  
I never meant to be  
One of three." -- Sweet Valley High, Elizabeth's Secret Diary_

**Chapter Two - The Day After The Night Before**

The rest of the day proved better for Hermione. The heart-to-heart talk with Dumbledore had lightened her mood considerably that she'd only thought about her dream once or twice. 

Her tension started building again when she and Harry met up with Dumbledore and McGonagall for their weekly meeting. Although Dumbledore regarded Hermione as though nothing had happened, which Hermione was eternally thankful for, it was the headmistress who was constantly shooting her anxious, wary looks as though she'd sprouted a second head. 

Harry, on the other hand, seemed unaware of McGonagall's blatant show of concern, to Hermione's relief. 

The headmaster, sitting at the head of their table, was currently discussing the upcoming visit of one of the most prominent Aurors in the wizarding world, who was flying in from the Soviet Union. Hermione tore her eyes away from McGonagall's prying ones long enough to listen. 

"I shall be heading over to London shortly to meet him and assist his journey to Hogwarts," Dumbledore informed them. "I will be away from the school for five days, during which Professor McGonagall will be taking my place as a temporary headmaster. Therefore, I am entrusting the responsibility of looking over the students' general welfare to you two. Can I trust you both?" He gestured to Harry and Hermione. 

Harry nodded straight away, but Hermione had her second thoughts. Add the task of being an acting deputy headmistress to her increasing amount of schoolwork _and_ her present, um, problem equals... 

She clenched her fists. _Nothing I can't handle,_ she decided flatly, before nodding at Dumbledore. 

Unfortunately, the slight tremble of her jaw as she nodded didn't escape McGonagall's eyes, which were watching her like a hawk. 

Damn her. 

To Hermione's horror, McGonagall faced Dumbledore. "I don't know if Miss Granger will be up to it," she said brusquely. 

Hermione looked as though the wind had been completely knocked out of her, and Harry was staring at the head of Gryffindor as if she'd announced that she was going to rob Gringotts. Only Dumbledore seemed calm enough to raise an eyebrow. "Hasn't Miss Granger proven her skills enough to you yet, Minerva?" he asked softly, his blue eyes narrowing slightly. 

"I'm not questioning her competence," McGonagall said almost defensively, noticing the incensed look in Harry's face. "I am simply taking to hand the incident this morning." 

Flecks of red and yellow sparked before Hermione's eyes. It was bad enough that McGonagall had raised that topic in the hospital wing, but mentioning it in front of Harry was a thousand times worse! Did the woman live to broadcast Hermione's personal issues 24/7? She was almost as bad as Rita Skeeter and that pen of hers! Fighting to keep her tone neutral, Hermione raised her chin. "What happened this morning has nothing to do with whether I can handle my duties or not," she said firmly. _And if this doesn't shut you up..._ she threatened silently. 

McGonagall didn't seem the least bit abashed. "Your personal problems were clearly interfering during the morning's incident," she responded simply. 

She had obviously struck a nerve. Hermione felt as though she was hit by a ton of bricks. She didn't know what was the worst - her professor seriously doubting her capabilities for the first time in her life, having the headmaster hear that, or Harry finding out that she was distracted by... certain things. Struggling to control her seething temper, Hermione rose from her chair and looked McGonagall directly in the eye. 

"I will not be disrespectful by telling you exactly how your sentiments make me feel, Professor, but this I _will_ tell you. The cause of my distress this morning is my own affair, and will never get in the way of my responsibilities. I'm very sorry if you think otherwise, and apparently I can't do anything to change your mind." 

McGonagall was rendered speechless, clearly taken aback. 

Ignoring the look on Harry's face, Hermione pushed her chair back and made to leave the room. Before she left, she glanced over her shoulder. "I always believed that you trusted me," she said bitterly, her words unmistakeably directed at McGonagall. "I don't understand why what happened this morning should change all that. Please excuse me, Professor Dumbledore." With that, she closed the door behind her, leaving everyone in the room stunned, McGonagall looking particularly guilty. 

Everyone except Dumbledore. To Harry and McGonagall's surprise, he was smiling. "I suppose this meeting is considered adjourned," he said pleasantly. "Harry, you may go." 

Wordless, Harry nodded, scrambled up and quickly left the room. 

Once there were only two left, McGonagall spoke up. "Was I too hard on her?" she asked anxiously. 

"That certainly was the way she took it." 

"I - I seriously didn't intend it that way," McGonagall said quietly. 

"I'm sure you didn't," Dumbledore said agreeably, a twinkle in his blue eyes. "We just have to leave her to deal with it on her own." 

"True. But, Albus, I don't understand how you're being so calm about this!" 

"I wouldn't say calm, Minerva," Dumbledore corrected, looking infinitely unperturbed as ever. "Frankly, I was impressed." 

* * *

Blinded by tears, Hermione rushed down the stairs, nearly tripping over the last step in her haste. She didn't care where she was heading; all she wanted was to get far, far away from McGonagall, from Harry, from _everybody_ - and be alone. Nurse her wounds some place else where people wouldn't question her every move. Who was she supposed to be, Miss Perfect? Sure, every professor who ever had the chance to teach her found her to be the perfect model student - responsible, hardworking, and respectful. And she'd lived up to that reputation pretty well, too. Why should a little slip-up like the one she had this morning suddenly reverse everything? 

_I have to take my mind off it,_ she finally decided. _A study session in the library should do the trick._ The library was seemed to be the only place in Hogwarts where people minded their own business unless they wanted themselves thrown out by Madame Pince. 

The library, and the Potions dungeon, maybe. 

It wasn't easy forgetting it. Every bit of the meeting was practically etched into her mind - McGonagall's doubt, Harry's confusion, and - Dumbledore. He was the only one who said a word in her defense, for which Hermione was truly touched. But McGonagall's words still echoed in her ears, stinging her with each step she took. 

_Your personal problems were clearly interfering..._

She skidded to a stop, suddenly aware of her surroundings. Somehow, she'd not only ran herself to the library like a bat out of hell, but she'd actually reached the section covering the thesis she was planning to work on. Researching on the rudiments of the Imperius Curse and on a possible way to distinguish a cursed person from a sane one was not the best remedy for her problem, but it would do. She selected a thick volume and brought it to an empty desk. 

Seeing the rolls of parchments of notes that she had already collected made Hermione feel a little better, knowing that despite everything else, she was still focused and a slight misunderstanding with her professor wasn't enough to break her down. With renewed strength, she scoured the book for a likely-looking page, stopping at a chapter titled "Miscellaneous Effects of the Imperius Curse." 

The chapter itself was pretty interesting - according to the few who have been affected and were luckily aware that they had been cursed, there were more effects other than complete mind control, such as dilated eyes, abnormally slow, sluggish movements, lack of self-confidence and self-esteem, and, most importantly, no memory that they had been placed under total control if the curse had lasted for more than seven hours. Otherwise, it would take a complex Memory Recovering Charm to regain whatever was lost. 

_If this is true, then the Imperius Curse couldn't have been used as an excuse not to have done things consciously,_ Hermione figured out, reaching for a quill and a fresh piece of parchment. However, the fact that it would be impossible for the victim to know that he was cursed was only discovered almost a decade ago, years after the Dark Times, when saying that they were put under the Imperius Curse against their will had been a popular alibi. Unless someone told them that they were cursed, the victim was supposed to be completely clueless. 

"Should have known sooner that that bastard Lucius Malfoy was lying about not being involved with You-Know-Who," Hermione muttered, flipping to the next page. 

All of a sudden, her ink bottle tipped over, spilling ink onto the parchment. 

"Bloody hell - _damn!_" she swore under her breath as the ink seeped into the thin paper, spreading rapidly like ripples in a dark black puddle. _How in the world...?_ She wasn't clumsy nor foolish enough to tip ink bottles over her work. Not usually, anyway. 

Righting the half-full ink bottle, Hermione wadded up the soaked parchment and tossed it into the nearest trash can. Her hands came away looking like they were dipped in tar. Carefully, she reached for her wand and magicked the ink away with a cleaning charm. 

_Dammit, I must be losing my touch._

Disgruntled, she dug into her bag for a second piece of parchment. She was running empty, considering all notes she'd been making, and running to Hogsmeade for a new batch required energy that she just didn't have right now. Finally, her fingers groped a stray piece and she pulled it out. Any sort of blank paper would do at this moment... _really,_ of all the times to run out of parchment...! 

That scrap evidently had writing too. Mumbling incoherently, Hermione turned it over to read the back. She recognized it as the things-to-do note she'd composed last night. 

_For Thursday: Get Potions ingredients - dragon blood, essence of moonstone, adamantine... Bring Charms report to Flitwick's office... Submit results of survey to Professor Hecate..._ Hermione frowned, with a sinking feeling, as she reached the bottom of the list. Why hadn't she noticed these things before? It was impossible - _no,_ it _couldn't_ be - 

Refusing to acknowledge the undeniable truth of what she already suspected, Hermione dropped her head in her hands, crushing the things-to-do note in her fist, the soft crackle of the crumpled paper slicing into her mind mocking her in its wake. 

She had been so worried about her problems ruining her schoolwork, but she'd sabotaged it herself, thanks very much. Even if she worked herself to the brink of insanity to gather those ingredients and turn in her report and survey, the damage had already been done. 

McGonagall was right - she was incompetent, negligent, and incredibly foolish. Too careless to fulfill her own responsibilities to her education, much less as Head Girl! There was no possible way to accomplish the tasks she had so dutifully noted the night before - the professors didn't accept work after class hours. Hermione stared up at the shelf in front of her, wishing that it would simply topple over and crush her away... 

... and knowing in the heart of her hearts that there was no way that could possibly happen. She glared at the picture of the wizard on her book waving his wand in the aftermath of having performed the Imperius curse. "Just kill me, why don't you?" Hermione spat out. 

_Love is a double-edged sword, if you must know,_ Dumbledore's words came back to haunt her, releasing the pent-up tears she'd been holding. 

She finally understood what he meant. 

* * *

Just on the other side of the towering shelf stood Ron Weasley, muttering irritably to himself as he yanked down another book and added it to the teetering pile on the table. _Snape had _better_ be happy with this or I'll stick it up his bloody ass,_ Ron thought sourly. 

His hatred for the Potions Master had lessened over the years, but was now threatening to explode again like a long-overdue volcanic eruption. Because just when he thought he'd picked the perfect topic for his thesis, Snape suddenly remembered that he still had to punish Ron for smashing his last bottle of ghysal greens. 

And Ron had broken that bottle two months ago! 

So, with typical Slytherin sadism, Snape demanded that Ron write his thesis in the field of Potion-making. To make matters worse, he specifically stated that it would be about the different perspectives of prominent figures in the milestones of the study of Potions. Ron would have had no problem with it if he put his heart into it, it was just that writing an argument between killing and imprisonment in Azkaban would have been tons better. And more fun to write too, knowing that he was doing this for himself and not as a punishment for breaking stupid Potion bottles. 

Ron glared at the rickety pile of textbooks. He longed to take those stupid books, run into his stupid professor's office, and throw them on his stupid head. And maybe gladly trade all this for a good old detention. 

The subject Snape had chosen wasn't all that bad, but every single bloody book in the history and Potions section seemed to point in that direction! Gods know he could spend the night taking book after book and there'd still be another _thousand_ more out there about famous people on Potion study. 

Well, Snape decided to have a little mercy (and that was saying something) and told him that books written by the late author Marthon Stewars generally dealt with Potion-making history. So far, despite the instruction of Madame Pince, Ron had only found one book with Stewars' name on it - his biography, written about twelve years ago. 

A fat lot of help, that was for sure. 

He backed up a couple of steps to search the highest shelf. _First Ingredients Ever Used in Potion-Brewing, Non-Liquid Potion Ingredients_ - those were practically useless - _Psychology and Potion-Brewing_ - whatever _that_ could mean, and then - 

Squinting, Ron blinked rapidly several times and pinched himself to see if he wasn't dreaming. 

There it was, sandwiched between two yellowing books by some witch named Prudence Wentworth, gleaming in gold lettering on its brand-new, hard-bound cover: _Famous Figures in the History of Potion Study by Sir Marthon Stewars._

Ron whipped out his wand to summon the book from the top of the shelf. "_Accio_ book - oh, _great!_" 

The wobbly tower of books on the table finally collapsed at the same time Ron uttered the words of the Summoning Charm. The jet of light emitted by his wand missed the Stewars' book by few inches, hit the ceiling, and bounced back off somewhere behind the shelf. A second later, Ron heard a muffled curse as his spell knocked against something. 

Whoops. Ron considered checking on who or what the charm had hit, but decided against it. As long as he didn't do something like spill someone's ink bottle all over his work, it was fine, right? 

Shaking his head, he Banished all the books on the floor back onto their vacated shelves and raised his wand to summon Stewars' book again. The heavy hardback flew off the shelf and landed in his hands. The front cover showed a simmering cauldron, and on the outside of the cauldron, faces of wizards flashed one after the other. 

He had finished skimming the brief foreword when he heard a very familiar voice bark out from behind the shelf. "Just kill me, why don't you?" 

_Hermione,_ he thought, recognizing the voice instantly. He rolled his eyes. What could it possibly be this time, besides another test score of only one hundred and one percent, or seeing that the dove she had worked herself hoarse to transform into still had feathers of the same material as her Hogwarts robes? _For Pete's sake, even the best wizards still have problems with Animagus transformations!_

But imagine trying to tell Hermione that. 

Slamming the book shut, Ron peered around the shelf to see Hermione's head buried in her arms, and she was apparently crying. Now that was something you didn't see everyday. The Hermione he knew wasn't one for melodrama, much less tears. 

Everything vanished from his mind except the fact that one of his best friends was sobbing as though it were the day the Titanic sank. He set the book aside and pulled up a chair next to Hermione. "Hey, Herms, it's me." 

"Ron?" 

"Yeah." He took the packet of tissues sticking out of one of the pockets of Hermione's bag and offered it to her. "And since asking if there's something wrong would be a pretty dumb question - d'you want to talk about it?" 

"Maybe... I don't know..." 

Ron was about to ask why, but the folder in front of her marked with her name and **_Thesis Notes_** across the top provided the answer. He patted Hermione's trembling arm. "All right, so maybe not here," he amended. "Want to talk it over butterbeer? I'm paying." 

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, which Ron interpreted perfectly. He snorted. "Don't give me that 'what-if-you-run-out-of-money' crap," he scolded her, his own eyebrows twitching in amusement. "We're not in fourth year anymore, and Dad was promoted, remember?" 

_That's true,_ he reflected. Ever since Arthur Weasley was given the position as head of the _Muggle Relations_ office, Ron's life had completely revolved three-hundred and sixty degrees - for the better. The family had acquired a new home, a new lifestyle, and a new name in the wizarding world that could have rivaled Lucius Malfoy's. Though it had taken the best of nearly two months for Ron to get used to the change, it did have its benefits - such as new robes and school materials instead of second-hand ones, and a higher allowance. 

And the best one yet was that Malfoy had little - if not none - left to tease him about. The only bit of communication left between them were the brief exchange of looks whenever they passed each other, and they weren't usually that pleasant either. 

That drew a small smile from Hermione. "I remember," she said, smiling through the remnants of her tears. "I didn't think Malfoy could last more than a day without saying something mean to you." 

Ron grinned back, admiring how much Hermione's face changed with only a smile. Her eyes lit up, her cheeks were flushed, and the slight hints of red under her eyes and nose paled next to them. Even her hair seemed to shine more radiantly under the last rays of the setting sun filtering through the library windows. 

She was incredibly beautiful. More so than he could ever imagine. He may have the money to please her and his friendship, but he still wouldn't have done anything to deserve - this angel. Almost involuntarily, he reached out and tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. It was an innocent gesture, yet Ron was almost certain he felt Hermione flinch slightly. 

_But what if - she doesn't feel the same way?_ a tiny voice piped up. 

_That's why you're marching right over to the Three Broomsticks to find out,_ a more positive one answered. 

"So... are we going or what?" Ron asked as an excuse to silence the argument in his head. 

"We are? Oh, right, I guess." Hermione gathered her notes to a neat file and stuffed it into her bag. 

Ron nodded, frowning slightly at her hesitation. Was she trying deliberately not to meet his eyes? He had no idea if this was a bad sign or not. "I'll meet you outside," he said instead as she hurried over to Madame Pince's desk to check out her book. 

_She's just tired, that's all,_ he reassured himself. _And stressed._

_Yup, that must be it._ It could not have been anything else, right? He hadn't been doing anything overt a while ago... if touching her hair hadn't been. 

His heart was pounding unnecessarily faster, though, as he and Hermione left the library and headed for the exit of the school. Wasn't he forgetting something? 

_The book!_ he suddenly remembered. Had Hermione not been there, he would have smacked himself on the forehead for his stupidity. Marthon Stewars' Potions History book - how could he have forgotten? He'd spent ages looking for it! Snape's menacing face loomed in his mind, telling him off for neglecting his studies for - 

Not just anybody, for that matter. A discreet glance at Hermione and fears of his Potions Master quickly faded away. No amount of schoolwork - or a certain crummy teacher - would be worth passing up a chance with the woman he'd always dreamt of. 

"Hey, Ron, is there anything wrong?" Hermione touched his hand, her lips quirking slightly. Her mere touch sent high-voltage electricity tingling up his arm, erasing all thoughts of Snape and his thesis in his mind. He took a sharp intake of breath. 

He shook his head forcefully, not knowing whether to answer her or to knock her against the wall in a passionate kiss. Instead, he settled for quipping, "No, nothing at all." 

_I'll return for that book - later._

* * *

Hermione was mildly surprised when Ron offered her a drink at the Three Broomsticks, but recovered at once, recalling that two bottles of butterbeer were little compared to what Mr. Weasley had earned the family after his promotion. She had been inclined to refuse, but then what could it hurt? She was out of parchment - it wasn't like staying in the library to wallow in her misery would help. 

After all, it had been ages since she and Ron went to Hogsmeade - without Harry. And, although she would never admit to anyone, she liked the materialistic benefits of having not just one, but two friends who were sons of high-society or pureblood families. 

She smiled at Ron's mock-stern expression. "I remember," she told him. "I didn't think Malfoy could last more than a day without saying something mean to you." Without her knowing, her heart fluttered as Ron returned her smile. Already she felt less weighed down, and her troubles with McGonagall and Harry seemed faraway. She glanced up to look him in the eye, which Ron met warmly. 

However, there was something lacking in that smile. When his eyes bore into hers, she felt content and comforted, surrounded and protected by a brotherly sort of love. 

But when Harry's eyes had locked with hers, she felt as though a blazing fire had been lit inside her, like a deep mutual understanding established just by his mere gaze. His touch was gentle when he had brushed away her tears, and his concern was genuine. He felt good. He felt... right? 

_Oh, no. That can't be possible - _no_ way..._

"So... are we going or what?" Ron cut in. 

"We are? Oh, right, I guess." Ruthlessly pushing her terrifying discovery aside, Hermione jumped up from her seat and hastily crammed everything back into her bag. A lock of her hair fell across her face in her rush, and before she could move to sweep it aside, Ron did the job for her. She tensed for a second, before straightening up and bringing her book to be checked out. She didn't know why she was so rattled about Ron touching her hair - it was a simply friendly gesture, is all - but, without her knowing why, she felt guilty. Guilty that she was unconsciously leading Ron on, and guilty that she was undoubtedly fooling him. 

But she knew the truth - she wasn't fooling anyone but herself. Mixed feelings of regret, irritation, and betrayal for the one she truly wanted. Yet that person was not the one who was now taking her to the Three Broomsticks. 

Uncomfortably, she sneaked a glance at Ron, who looked just as awkward as she felt. Was her discomfort showing? She nudged his hand lightly. "Hey, Ron, is there anything wrong?" 

A sharp hiss escaped his lips as their fingers made contact. Staring straight ahead, he shook his head, although the movement looked a little too - forced. "No, nothing at all." 

_There is definitely something wrong here,_ Hermione thought, frowning. The Ron she knew didn't thrive on silence - in fact, he could hardly exist for a minute without his usual wisecracks. And the way he was uneasily fidgeting with his fingers did not do anything to ease her suspicions. 

The entrance to the Three Broomsticks loomed before them. Ron grinned at her, before sinking into a perfect half bow with a flourish. "After you, my lady." 

Despite the exaggerated formality, Hermione chuckled at his attempt to lighten things up. Meeting him halfway, she waltzed into the pub and performed a little curtsy. "Thank you, kind sir," she replied, taking his outstretched hand and allowing him to lead her into a vacant table. By the time they were seated, both of them had cracked up. 

"You certainly weren't _that_ gentlemanly during the Yule Ball three years ago," Hermione remarked between laughs. 

"Why should I be if the girl I was dancing with then wasn't you?" Ron winked at her before getting up to order for the both of them. 

Hermione managed to smile weakly at his less-than-subtle compliment while waiting for him to return. Minutes later, he sat down and set two bottles of butterbeer. They drank noiselessly, until Ron finally broke the silence. His eyes were unusually somber. Hermione just looked back blankly, unaware that her suspicions were about his strange behavior in the library was soon to be confirmed. 

"Hermione - there's something I have to tell you." 

* * *

A/N: 

1) Yup, Hermione is an Animagus, and she can turn into a dove. Thought it might be a pretty cute touch. ^_~ 

2) The information on the Imperius Curse? Don't take my word for it - I just thought it up. 

3) Disclaimers: Ghysal greens come from Final Fantasy 8... I was too lazy to think up of a new Potion ingredient. Ghysal greens are pretty rare and valuable in FF8 anyway... they must be rare and valuable to Snape too. The name Prudence Wentworth came from Charmed. 


	3. Et Tu?

**Friends Forever**  
_by Isys_

**This is a particularly long chapter... hope you guys like it. ^^** 

**Chapter Three - _Et Tu?_**

Shock wasn't even enough to describe the expression on Hermione's already tense face. 

_Don't be stupid,_ she reprimanded herself, trying to cover her alarm with a smile that could not have fooled anybody, much less Ron. Instead, she watched him warily as he opened his mouth to speak, seemingly trying to muster enough courage to even _look_ at her, which left Hermione exceedingly uncomfortable. 

_Incoming,_ hissed the small voice in her head. 

Before she could shake it out of her mind, Hermione got the immediate impression of a winged Cupid aiming its unerring arrow with an impish look on its smirking face. 

Shooting it a psychic glare that could have sent it screaming bloody murder, Hermione raised one eyebrow in a weak attempt to look nonchalant. "Yes?" she prompted him. 

Whatever it was that he had to say escaped his mouth in a sigh. "Ahh, no, nothing," Ron said hastily. He grabbed his tankard of butterbeer and downed the remaining liquid in one gulp, but Hermione could clearly see that his face had gone into the same crimson as his hair. She decided not to push the issue any further. She couldn't think of a worse topic other than what Ron was about to tell her, if it was what she was already suspecting. 

"All right - we came here to talk," he said, quickly changing the subject. "What was going on a while ago?" 

Hermione bit her lip. Now she could think of a worse topic - _her_ very un-Hermione-like disposition in the library. She knew that there was really no apparent reason to hide it from Ron; it wasn't about him, after all. But she also knew - and for the life of her didn't know how she did - that there wasn't a good reason why he should know either. 

_I just won't tell him the whole truth,_ she decided evasively. 

"It's about our meeting - Harry and I - with Dumbledore and McGonagall," she began, hiding her hands beneath the table so Ron wouldn't see how pale her knuckles had turned to. "An Auror's coming to visit next month, right?" 

Ron nodded. 

"Well, Dumbledore's leaving next Monday to accompany him and he won't be back until Friday. McGonagall will then be taking his place, and Harry and I will be - sort of - taking over McGonagall's duties 'til Dumbledore's back." Her voice wavered slightly as the phrase "Harry and I", hoping that she only imagined the look of discomfort in Ron's face. 

"Hey, don't tell me you can't do it," Ron interrupted. "You lasted a year with that hourglass thing driving you nuts - five days is zilch, nada." 

Hermione made a face at the memory. "Don't be an idiot - of course I didn't refuse it. I'd even take it without Harry helping." She sighed, trying not to let how upset she was over McGonagall's disapproving words enter her voice. "McGonagall's the one who didn't think so." 

"_McGonagall?_" Ron repeated incredulously. "The same McGonagall who practically killed to have you as Head Girl? The _same_ McGonagall who said you had what it takes to become the next Minister of Magic? _That_ McGonagall?" 

"That's the one." 

"Oh." For a while, he looked ready to choke the life out of the deputy headmistress, to which Hermione would have gladly given her approval. But then he smiled at her. "Anyway, forget about it, she must have been high on something when she said that." 

Hermione returned the smile, inwardly relieved that the conversation - hopefully - was almost over. She checked her watch. It was half past five, and she needed to eat an early dinner to earn her plenty of time for her work tonight. The potion ingredients she'd managed to get ahold of needed preparation - the essence of moonstone in particular had to stand outside under moonlight for a couple of hours. She grabbed her unfinished bottle of butterbeer and made to stand when Ron stopped her. 

He seemed to be doing some thinking, his brow furrowing slightly. "I have just one last question," he finally said. 

_Please, please, please don't ask about the Arithmancy class,_ begged Hermione silently. If he did ask, she would have no choice to tell him about the dream... which would lead to Harry... which would lead to things she'd rather not discuss. 

"What exactly happened during Arithmancy, Herms?" 

_Bingo,_ a voice resonated somewhere in her conscious - the part which hadn't already totally gone blank anyway. 

"Oh - that?" she managed to croak out before regaining her composure. "I was just - a little overworked, that's all." 

The smile she plastered over her face didn't fool him one bit. "Oh, come on, Herms, I know you better than that," he said impatiently. "You were pale and shaking and everything - thought you had some sort of fit - " 

"It was stress," she quipped helplessly. Inside, her mental voice was sneering at her. _That was so, so lame..._

" - you were screaming like you were set on fire or something - and the way you were looking at Harry - almost like you saw the Bloody Baron - if that was stress, then that's the worst case of it I've ever seen. Not even Percy can beat that - and that's saying something. Come on, Herms, talk to me. You need to fix this up to convince McGonagall you can do it." 

That did it - she knew there was no way out. Of all her friends, Ron was the hardest to argue with. Once an idea entered his head, it stayed there! Trapped, Hermione sank back down in her seat, took a deep breath, and recounted the events since Wednesday - Harry's confession, the promised meeting tomorrow, her dream, and her talk with Dumbledore. Ten minutes later, she stopped and watched Ron warily, gauging his reaction. He wasn't squirming in his seat like she half-expected, but all the friendly and encouraging support seemed to have drained out of him. 

"It's so difficult for me to work with him now - alone," she admitted, trying to buy him extra time to think of something to say. "I hate it... not knowing what's going to happen between us... it's so complicated these days, not like before..." 

"Why?" Ron said abruptly. 

"Why?" she echoed blankly, before she composed herself once more. "I - I don't really know, if it's what he said, or if it's because it's Harry..." She sipped at her butterbeer thoughtfully. It _was_ a fair question - why was she being so paranoid? 

She didn't like this one bit... after all, she did have her pride and it always gave the answers all by itself. She hated having to learn about her downsides and weaknesses from others, arrogant as it may seem. 

Ron chuckled. "Oh? And what if it were me?" 

The question came by surprise, and, as Hermione was forced to admit, it had a more sincere ring of truth to it that it should have had. It was obviously a light-hearted joke, by the look on his face, but... 

_He doesn't mean it... right?_ she implored to the voice in her head, which was virtually bouncing off the walls in excitement. 

A cackle of laughter came as a response. 

_Just play along._ Trying to hide her uneasiness, Hermione snorted. "Look, you're my friend, and I love you for that, but if any of that should change, nothing will be the same again, right? It's the same with Harry." 

A definite change came over Ron when she said that. He stiffened visibly on his chair, his hold on his empty bottle of butterbeer tightened, and Hermione could have sworn that he was trembling slightly. Hermione suppressed a frown. What had she said wrong now? 

Ron remained silent. Fine. If he wasn't going to budge, then it was up to Hermione to get things up and running again, wasn't it? She ignored his sudden apprehension by waving her hand dismissively. "Fine, fine, enough about me, you were saying something earlier - what was it?" she ventured. 

For the first time in her life, Hermione saw Ron fidgeting nervously with his fingers. "Er - no - it doesn't matter - really - not anymore," he faltered, his eyes downcast. 

Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation. Typical bloody men - and they say that women were the fickle ones! "Yeah, and Lockhart is the best DADA teacher we've had," she said sarcastically. "And I'm not blind; when Ronald Weasley treats someone to a drink, hey, gods know the heavens must be on fire or something." 

That got a feeble laugh out of Ron. "Years ago, I would've paid anything to hear you say that about Lockhart," he bantered weakly. 

_Oh, well, it's a start,_ she thought grudgingly. At least he was regaining a little of his humor. She grinned flippantly. "Oh? Why can't you pay me now?" 

"Because - " Ron looked straight into her eyes for the first time in minutes, all traces of humor gone. It was like staring into a mirror - Hermione could almost see herself reflected in his somber eyes. As though hypnotized, Hermione spoke in a flat monotone. "Because of what?" she whispered, almost afraid to hear his answer. 

"Because even if I give you all the gold in Gringotts, you'll always be worth more - more than I could ever imagine." 

_Zing!_ In her mind's eye, Hermione saw her mental Cupid's arrow flying painfully accurately to its target - a bull's eye replaced with a heart. 

At that, the silence hanging by their table was more deafening than the one that usually drifts around during Potions class. 

Ron's expression was unreadable, but after a moment, Hermione could pick up twinges of regret... of embarrassment. However, what was done was done - both of them knew that there was no hope of ever reclaiming those words back. The first emotion that overcame Hermione was anger, but it faded away quickly. At least Ron was looking properly rueful. 

_Well, he should be!_ she thought indignantly. _I told him about Harry, how it's causing so much confusion, and he just has to make it worse!_

"Ron," she said at last, finding nothing else to say. "Are you saying - what I think you're saying?" 

Her hand went rigid as he took it in his. "If you're thinking that I'm telling you that I love you," he said softly. "Then - you're right." 

Time seemed to lurch to a sickening stop. Hermione shrank back in her seat, her heart pounding so furiously that she was sure Ron could hear it. 

_He - loves me?_

"That - can't be," she choked out, shaking her head vehemently. She didn't know why it was so wrong - well, it just was! "You can't... didn't you listen to me... the one about Harry?" 

Bowing his head remorsefully, Ron nodded mutely. "I did, and that's why it was so hard - to tell this to you." 

Hermione's mind was whirring uncontrollably. _That's it, I've heard everything..._

A strong feeling of deja vu struck her as Ron continued. "Hermione, I know we agreed to keep this around friendly terms, but if there's still a chance for us..." 

_Then I'm all for taking it,_ finished Hermione grimly in her mind. _That was exactly what Harry had said._

"... then I'm all for taking it." 

Hermione released all of the breath she'd been holding. Would the dream - the nightmare - that she had during Arithmancy really come true? Her choice was reeling over the edge now, and both sides were calling at her, asking for her decision. It was making her feel strangely eerie - like she was reliving her dreams right in reality. She was half-expecting to see Harry zoom overhead with his Firebolt, pleading her to come up with him instead. 

The anger she'd kept tightly in check threatened to boil over again. She was sick of everything, sick of having her judgment sorely challenged day after day. And this was the last straw. 

"You know, you and Harry are more alike than I thought," she observed dryly, trying as hard as possible to postpone the huge confrontation she was about to make. "Do you know that that was the exact thing he told me?" 

"It was?" Ron said faintly. "Hermione... both of us..." 

_Do you always have to repeat everything I say?_ she thought hotly. Hands balled into fists, she rose from her seat and stared down at him icily. "That's right - both of you," she said, livid with rage. The usual cool and composed mask was long gone. "Do you actually expect me to choose between you two?" 

The regret in his eyes was replaced by a certain fear at seeing the side of Hermione he'd hardly witnessed before. He was only managing to hold himself. "Herms... it's not for us - you have the only choice - " 

"Don't give that kind of morality," she spat out, fighting to keep her voice only within Ron's earshot. It wouldn't do to have their little argument spreading around the Three Broomsticks with the likes of Rita Skeeter and her pompous quill around. "I don't have 'only choices', you hear me? There never is an 'only choice'. Well, Ron, suppose I _do_ choose one of you," she glared at him with a mixture of anger, hurt, and - to Ron's surprise - there were tears brimming in her eyes. "Can I trust your friendship to hold out if I make that choice?" 

"Hermione, this choice isn't for us... it's for you. And for your happiness." 

Tears were now flowing freely down Hermione's cheeks for the Nth time that week, but she made no move to wipe them away. Her hands had been stained with tears - with her frustrations - one too many times for her to bear any more. 

_How dare he throw that choice at me again? Why is it always me, me, me?_

For the second time, Dumbledore's words echoed in her mind. _Love is a double-edged sword..._ He was right, and Hermione thought her situation right now unfairly one-sided. Well, she wasn't going to stand around and take it. 

"No, this is for all _three_ of us," she countered. "Ron, can you look at me right now and promise me that nothing - absolutely _nothing_ - is going to happen between you and Harry if I choose you? Or if I choose him?" 

There came no reply except a quiet "Why?" 

_That clinches it then._ Hermione gave him a look of sheer betrayal through her watery eyes. "Just as I thought," she said sadly, turning away. "If you still have to ask... then how should I expect you to understand? This is also your trial - not only mine." 

Her question was left unanswered as she left the table, but she said over her shoulder. "Thanks for the butterbeer, by the way," she added quietly, before walking past the entrance. But instead of running off, she leaned heavily against the outside wall of the Three Broomsticks to console herself in her misery. 

How could she have sorely miscalculated everything? She expected a nice, relaxed talk over butterbeer, but she'd fled in tears less than half and hour after entering. Not only had she screwed up herself, she had jeopardized her friendship with Ron. All she wanted to do was to curl up in her bed, bury herself under the covers, and never come out. It wasn't like anyone would want to see their good ol' respectable Head Girl in _this_ condition. 

She wanted to rush back into Three Broomsticks and set everything straight again, but it would simply replay the whole scene all over again. Dammit, why did Ron have to be so pressing? He practically threw all the responsibilities to her! He and McGonagall were so alike - they might as well be married. 

Somewhere, though, a little spot in her heart was fluttering over Ron's feelings. Another was bearing the heavy burden of the choice she would soon have to make. 

And the rest was urging her to put the whole thing aside and go for dinner. But her legs wouldn't obey any commands - despite the severe bashing her ego had taken these days, she still had the airs not to enter Hogwarts crying like a baby. Gods know what the students' reaction would be, much less the teachers. 

So, summing up whatever dignity she had left, she murmured something and her body shimmered away - and in her place was a white dove, its tail streaked with brown the same color as her hair. The bird soared up until the Gryffindor Tower of Hogwarts was in view, dipped a wing, and finally took flight. 

*** 

The morning of Friday the Thirteenth found Harry waking up to the first few rays of the rising sun. A quick glance at his watch lying on the bedside table told him that it was promptly six o' clock - he had to get moving if he wanted to get the moonstone he'd left soaking overnight ready for his first class, Potions. Throwing off the covers, he slipped into his dressing gown and slippers and headed for the window, which had been bathed in the light of the full moon.

The reddish chip of rock that he'd sealed in a clear glass container had vaporized under the moonlight, filling the glass vial with a smoky red gas. After hours of research in the library of the exact night when the amount of light from the moon would be perfect to prepare his ingredient, his work had finally paid off. The essence of moonstone was drifting around in swirly clouds of smoke... just the way Snape had indicated it should. Forgetting that most of his housemates were still snoozing, he let out a crow of delight. 

Most of them shot him sleepy, irritated glares then buried themselves under their pillows, but Ron sat up wearily, his eyes edged with eyebags the size of his trunk - no, scratch that, Harry thought, studying his friend's puffy eyes as he set down his precious bottle. The size of Malfoy's ego was more like it. 

Ron, who was staring fixatedly at some unknown spot in the wall, had to be prodded and yelled at in the ear "HEY THE CHUDLEY CANNONS ARE RIGHT BEHIND YOU!" by Harry to snap out of it. When he finally acknowledged Harry's presence, Ron's eyes were exceptionally gloomy in a way that Harry thought had little to do with lack of sleep. Harry frowned slightly. He hadn't seen Ron since their last class the previous day until he came trudging back to the common room way after suppertime. Harry hadn't bothered to ask what was wrong, since each person who already did received an icy glower that could have frozen a dragon's breath, but Ron didn't look particularly homicidal that morning. 

"Hey, what's up?" he asked in as friendly a voice as anyone could muster at six in the morning. 

The redhead's only reply was a grunt. 

_Definitely not a morning person, Ron,_ Harry thought, stifling the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he shifted on the bed so that he could see his friend's bleary face clearly. "Come on, out with it. I was supposed to ask you last night, but you looked ready to kill someone. I'd never seen Neville look so terrified since he'd knocked over McGonagall's fluffy pink slippers into his Shrinking Potion." 

"Nothing... just a little overworked," said Ron bluntly. "Spent the whole afternoon in the library yesterday." 

Though Harry still had his doubts, he simply patted Ron's shoulder and walked off to get dressed. A new thought had replaced his worry about his best friend - his rendezvous with his _other_ best friend. Unconsciously, he started sifting through his set of black Hogwarts robes for his cleanest one. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ron stumbling out of bed to check on his own moonstone, which had shriveled to the size of a prune. Uttering a groan of defeat, he chucked the glass container out of the open window, muttering an incoherent string of not-so-pleasant phrases under his breath. 

Despite the fact that he was facing a long day, Harry was feeling unusually refreshed, unlike the others, as he dusted off his robes and pinned on his Head Boy badge. Although he was still a bit worried about Ron, his mind was filled with thoughts of Hermione. All of a sudden, he felt like he was the luckiest guy in the school... working as Head Boy alongside her... 

He was sitting on his bed examining his perfect essence of moonstone with admiration when Ron ambled over, ready to leave for breakfast. After Harry cheerily slipped the little vial in his pocket (Ron was wrinkling his nose irritably.), the duo left the boy's dormitory to meet up with Hermione in the common room before they all went to the Great Hall. 

Minutes later, Harry looked up to see Hermione hurrying out of the girls' dormitory, her sleek brown hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. It was a style Harry wasn't used to seeing daily, but it called more emphasis to her face, and Harry couldn't refuse that, could he? 

He was ready to give her a warm morning greeting when he noticed that her eyes were just as puffy as Ron's, a bit red and swollen as though she had been crying the night out. The greeting died down his throat, and all he could say was a hesitant "Good... morning?" 

"Morning," Ron followed suit, but definitely with less backbone. 

Her and Ron's eyes met for a fraction of a second before they forcefully looked away. "Good morning, Harry - Ron," Hermione replied, and Harry could have sworn that her voice broke slightly over Ron's name. Frowning again, he looked from Hermione to Ron, who were both deliberately trying to avoid each other's eyes. 

Was he missing something here? 

Breakfast was oddly quiet as well. There was but a few exchange of words between Ron and Hermione, which were only an occasional "Pass the juice, please" or "Can you hand over that dish?". Finally, Harry broke in. Playing mediator after their countless fights could be pretty tiresome. 

"Bloody hell, what is _up_ with you two?" 

Ron and Hermione jumped about a foot into the air at his sudden outburst before guiltily poking on their food. Harry drummed at the table impatiently. "Well?" 

"Er - nothing." 

"Just tired." 

Dissatisfied, Harry was about to persist when a bell sounded, signalling the start of class. A relieved saved-by-the-bell look crossed both of their faces as they mumbled a short "See you around" and scurried away to Potions, keeping at least a meter between themselves, obviously desperate for an excuse to leave the table. 

Harry sighed and followed in the direction Ron had taken to the dungeons. Something was definitely up, but he knew better than to make himself late for Potions thinking about it. 

*** 

Hermione hurried to Transfigurations after a particularly grueling day. Ironically, she and Ron had been paired up during Potions to learn the rudiments of the Wolfsbane Potion, and every word he said seemed to be pushing her buttons. They managed to reduce their conversation to mere please and thank you's. While they were able to create the first part of the potion perfectly, Snape still managed to find error in it and stomped her already withering ego to the floor. She was fighting not repeat history during Arithmancy, DADA was boring, and an obviously inexperienced ghost had substituted for Flitwick at Charms. Hermione, unflustered as she always was despite Snape's cynical remarks, was ready for quits, even if it meant practicing Animagus transformations for the third week with McGonagall. It was their second to the last class of the week, anyway. 

This time around, she was paired with Harry. Not the most suitable alternative to her previous situation, but he was a welcome distraction from McGonagall, who still looked a little uncomfortable from their past confrontation. 

While their Transfiguration professor strolled around the room, supervising and correcting mistakes, Hermione took a deep breath and shut her eyes tightly. Harry was watching her, wand ready, in case something went wrong. 

Seconds later, a white dove was perched on the back of Hermione's seat. It flew a few circles around the room before returning and changing back to human form. 

Applause filled the room. 

"Well done!" McGonagall exclaimed a little too cheerfully. Her effort to patch things up didn't go unnoticed, but Hermione was unruffled by the cheers of her other classmates and the fifteen points awarded to Gryffindor. She simply nodded and took her seat to watch Harry take his turn. 

_You're mean,_ deprecated her mental voice. Hermione shot it a glare that effectively shut it up. 

Coincidentally, Harry could also assume the form of a bird, a peregrine falcon to be exact, that could blend almost entirely in the wild had it not been for the miniturized trademark of the Boy Who Lived imprinted under a tuft of feathers on his forehead. It didn't take long for his body to disappear and have a graceful falcon to materialise in his place, its body a beautiful shade of red the same as Dumbledore's phoenix, its long, sweeping tail sporting a pretty pattern of gold and brown. 

Needless to say, Harry's transfiguration received the same kudos. 

After their success, both of them were allowed to sit out the rest of the period, eyeing the other students like hawks. Neville's transformation had ridiculously backfired, shrinking himself into the size of a cricket, and he was squeaking helplessly around on his table while McGonagall uttered a spell to reverse it. 

The whole class burst into amused laughter, and Hermione couldn't help chuckling at the hilarity of it all. Apparently, age contributed nothing to Neville's habitual knack for forgetfulness and failure. 

Vaguely, she glanced at Harry, who had a thoughtful look in his expressive green eyes, set apart from the light-hearted atmosphere of the class. 

_He's probably thinking of what you'll tell him tonight,_ put in the echo in her mind idly. Evidently, criticizing her 24/7 still wasn't enough for its shrewd character. 

"Hermione," Harry's voice disrupted her thoughts. 

"Hmmm?" 

"Where were you and Ron yesterday after class? Flitwick sent me to look for you." 

"Me - and Ron?" Hermione echoed in an unnecessarily high-pitched voice. _Don't panic... take it easy..._ she coaxed herself vainly. The voice in her head was practically dancing in neurotic delight now. "Um - I was in the library - then Ron - " 

Harry continued speaking in a light, casual tone, but Hermione could very well see the aggravating suspicion behind it. Three seats in front of her, Ron was apprehensive at their serious conversation that he accidentally dropped his wand on the little hamster-like furball that was his partner, Seamus Finnigan. 

"The library?" Harry repeated, raising an eyebrow. "I went there at around five - Madame Pince said you'd already left." 

"Five?" she squeaked, plastering on her face what she hoped looked like a puzzled smile. "Er - no - I mean - yes, I already left the library - and we - no, _I_ - " 

Harry put up one hand to stop her flow of words before she stuttered off unintelligibly. "Herms - hey - get ahold of yourself," he said, shaking her gently. "You're not making any sense. I just told Flitwick that you might be busy working somewhere - you don't have to get nervous about it." 

_I _am_ nervous,_ she answered him silently. _Only - not because of the reasons you think._

He waited until the pink was back in Hermione's sickly pale skin before he said, "All right. Just tell me where you were so that I can make up something for Flitwick later." 

Feeling as though she was headed for the guillotine, Hermione responded bleakly, "Ron and I were at the Three Broomsticks," before she could clamp her mouth shut. She looked Harry edgily, watching for his reaction. 

"Oh," was all he could say vacantly. "Why didn't you guys call me?" 

Hermione's heart sank. Nothing had seemed wrong when she and Ron entered the pub minus Harry, but now that he mentioned it - it almost like they didn't want Harry to be there, and it was obviously what Harry suspected. The early stages of a chain reaction was beginning to form - Harry would know what had upset Hermione so much... then he would find out what Ron told her... 

"Well - we - I was still a bit upset about what McGonagall had said," fibbed Hermione, making sure to lower her voice. "And - well - Ron showed up and asked if I'd like a drink and talk about it so we went ahead - I'm so sorry, Harry - I guess I was too wound up over McGonagall - but we didn't - we just talked it over butterbeer, that's all." 

The last part came out hastily, but, nevertheless, it was the truth. Not the whole truth, but all the same, still the truth. Hermione tilted her head so that her long ponytail dangled over her face, partially obscuring the deep blush covering her cheeks. 

Her little white lie didn't escape Harry's notice, to her dismay. He was fiddling with something in his pocket as he spoke. "I don't know, Herms - you just make it sound so secret - as though you had something to hide," he said a bit testily. 

Something inside Hermione snapped. It was bad enough that Harry was being so self-righteous, but he also had to make it sound that way! "Who are you, my counselor?" she snapped, turning so sharply that her ponytail grazed Harry's face. 

"I'm not being self-righteous, if that's what you think I am," said Harry defensively, as though he'd read her mind. "I'm telling it as it is - you _do_ sound so awkward as if - " 

"Then maybe if you'd stop acting like a drill sergeant, I _might_ stop sounding 'so awkward'," Hermione retorted, her voice oozing sarcasm that could have equaled a Slytherin's. 

"I'm not acting like a drill sergeant and you know it. Is there something wrong with telling the truth?" 

Somewhere in her mind registered her mental voice rooting up and down and waving flags, one marked with "Hermione" and the other "Harry" before launching itself into a series of acrobatics Hermione herself couldn't have done in real life. 

_Rot in hell,_ she spat at it. Then she looked Harry straight in the eye. "There is if you're not even certain that it _is_ the truth," she hissed, totally beside herself. Was this the same Harry whom she was already considering into giving the benefit of a doubt? 

Harry opened his mouth to say something back, but decided against it. "All right, all right, maybe I was overreacting. But I wouldn't if you'd just tell me." 

Wordless, Hermione leaned back on her chair and folded her arms, meeting his eyes briefly to establish a stony truce. It was all she could do not to burst into tears of defeat - the fateful name of Friday the Thirteenth was certainly taking its toll. 

The bell sounded a minute later, indicating the end of class. Automatically, Hermione sat up and stalked away, with Harry and Ron following morosely behind her. Worse became worst when they saw that the Slytherins were already gathered outside to have their Transfiguration class next, and, most unluckily, Draco Malfoy was leaning lazily against the doorway, Crabbe and Goyle attached to him like a barnacle (as always). 

"Hey, Potter, what did you do to your girlfriend?" he asked in a sickeningly saccharine tone that was a trademark of all the Slytherins, feigning a look of sympathy as Hermione stomped past him, sniffling back tears.

Harry looked at him crossly. Ever since Harry had been made prefect in his fifth year, he had rarely crossed paths with Draco Malfoy. He hadn't exactly earned that much respect from the Slytherin, yet he had to admit that Malfoy had changed considerably over the past years. Sure, he still had was his dry, caustic self who, like a more solid version of Peeves, delighted in the misfortunes of the other three houses, but there were fewer and fewer traces of his father in his angular face. Although difficult for him acknowledge, there was little to hate in Draco Malfoy anymore. He and Harry even managed to exchange a few hello's along the hallways, to which Ron was strongly inclined to throw up.

But this day was definitely not one of Harry's best.

"Get lost, Malfoy," Harry shot back.

"Professor McGonagall won't be too happy if I did, Potter," replied Malfoy smoothly as though talking to an exceptionally stupid three-year-old. "I'm here to take my Transfiguration class - unlike you both, who obviously prefer standing in the doorway blocking other people's way."

Ron glared at him and grabbed Harry's arm. "Let's go, Harry, and let this git take his classes. He needs it loads more than we do." With that, he dragged his friend away, who was looking dearly ready land a slap on Malfoy's smug face.

The Slytherins were sniggering behind them, Malfoy imitating Ron's irate face petulantly like a child who had lost his trick-or-treat bag. "He needs it loads more than you do," he mimicked in a ridiculously high falsetto.

McGonagall tapped her wand sharply against her desk, beckoning the Slytherins to enter.

Malfoy was the last to take his seat, which, ironically, had been Harry's seat. Under the table was an innocuous paper ball. Malfoy bent over to pick it up and idly smoothened it on his desk.

The scrap of parchment was scrawled with words - actually, all the same word. _Hermione._ In print, in cursive... there it was, covering both sides of the paper... _Hermione..._

Although the name was scribbled in about fifty different styles, the handwriting was unmistakable. After all, it was Potter who wrote the notices which were daily posted on the school bulletin board. A smile crept to Malfoy's lips as he recognized the writer, the first stages of a plan forming in his Slytherin mind.

_Let the games begin..._

****

Harry disappeared off to the library right after their last class - History of Magic - leaving Ron by himself. Finding nothing else to do, he sought out the Gryffindor common room. A few minutes alone was just what he needed to sort out his thoughts.

The common room was usually empty after class - most of the Gryffindors would either be in the library, in Hogsmeade, or in some other classroom serving detention. Ron mumbled the password to the vivacious portrait of Lord Chandonier, which had replaced the Fat Lady after she moved upstairs with another one of her two-dimensional friends. Ron thought he'd seen the worst with Sir Cadogan, but Lord Chandonier made him look like a Hufflepuff. Perched on his white stallion, Lord Chandonier was a more colorful, more loquacious, and more manic version of his second cousin.

Cussing Lord Chandonier, Ron headed over to the nearest couch, only to find someone already sitting on it. The long brown hair and the Head Girl badge was unmistakable - it was Hermione.

That was odd. Hermione usually stayed in the library until dinner time. Ron squinted at her, trying to make sure if she was real. She was shaking violently and had almost gone through a whole box of Kleenex. Obviously she was very real - and in distress.

"Herms... hey, it's me..." He perched himself on the arm of the couch. Hermione, too inarticulate to explain, buried her head in his arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

Eyes widening slightly, Ron hesitated for a moment before holding her back. Part of him was overcome with guilt - if Harry walked in and saw this - Ron gulped - it wouldn't be a very pretty sight. But the latter part was shrieking at him _You moron, you've been waiting your whole life for this! Don't screw it up!_

"Ron," Hermione choked out, her hands still tightly fisting his robes. "Everything's gone wrong - McGonagall - she - " Fresh tears welled up in her eyes and she reached for the last tissue paper in her box.

Ron would have dearly loved to strangle McGonagall until she turned blue, but he stroked Hermione's hair gently. "What did she say?"

"Snape - he told McGonagall that I was really distracted today," Hermione began. "It was enough for her to - to - " She broke off again, fingering her Head Girl badge with trembling hands.

"Should have known Snape was involved," Ron muttered under his breath. "So what did McGonagall say?"

"Please - don't tell this to Harry," Hermione begged, staring up at him through her tears. "I can't - I don't know what his reaction will be - "

"I won't tell him."

"Swear it with your life," Hermione insisted.

Ron had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes in exasperation. "All right, I swear not to tell him," he said, putting one hand up for added measure. 

The doubtful look hadn't disappeared from her eyes, however. "With your _life!_" she persisted, banging the empty box of Kleenex on his lap.

"Hermione - "

"Come on, Ron - promise."

"Bloody hell, Herms, I wouldn't tell Harry even if Fluffy asked me three times with each of its heads!" Ron practically yelled. "Fine, _fine,_ I swear with my _life_ - I promise - I - won't - tell - _Harry!_"

"You don't _have_ to get hysterical," grumbled Hermione. 

"I was _not_," protested Ron. Honestly, reasonable and logical as Hermione usually was, when she cracked up, she _really_ cracked up. Seven years with her and he still wasn't accustomed to it. 

"All right, all right, you don't need to have a cow." Hermione blinked back the remnants of her tears, obviously trying hard not to cry. "She said that if I don't shape up soon, I might lose my badge."

"Is she _mad?_" Ron exclaimed incredulously. 

Ron's reaction brought her to tears again. "She's not - she wasn't - oh, Ron - she was serious - I know she was. I can't believe it - I wanted to have this badge ever since I came here - and now - I can't - "

Ron tilted her chin up to stare at her eyes directly. The vulnerability present there made her even more beautiful - and it tugged at his heart. Right then and there, he vowed to do anything within his power to make her happy - she deserved nothing less. "Herms - look at me. Everything's all right, I promise. And even if McGonagall doesn't believe you can do it anymore... hey, I still will."

Slowly, tenderly, he lowered his face to meet hers. He heard her take a sharp gasp of breath, but to his surprise, he felt no resistance, just a soft sigh of contentment, as though everything was all right.

There were just some wounds that couldn't be healed by mere words, and this was one of them. And when he felt the sweet touch of her lips against his, he knew, that even if the whole school were there, he wouldn't have stopped himself, even if he had wanted to.

**

A/N:

**Okay... I have a little contest running here. First reviewer to give me the reference and/or meaning and the original quote (you only have to supply one more word) gets to have the first look on the next chapter - I will e-mail it to you personally. If that isn't enough, I'll give you a cookie to review my story! ^_~ Credit goes to J.L. Matthews for the whole idea of this contest.** 

Okay, so maybe it's a lame way to illicit reviews, but still! Rhygell, I'm sure you can answer that if you paid attention to our circle-drawing teacher... ^^ 

To my readers: _please_ don't think that because of that scene (yup, I was practically gagging at it too) I'm already putting Ron and Hermione together... but that doesn't mean that it's a done H/Hr already. I'm not all that good at writing out romantic scenes... please tell me what you think about how I went about it. ^^


	4. Plots and Betrayal

**Friends Forever**

_by Isys_

[Congrats to Dee Dee for guessing correctly the references to the title in chapter 3. ^^ The complete quote was "Et tu, Brute?" from Julius Caesar 3.1.78 and it means "You too, Brutus?" If you're wondering how it is relevant to the story, take it from Hermione's POV.]

This will be a better chapter for those rooting for H/Hr. Since I got some pretty *wild* reviews for chapter 3, I thought it best to show the negative side effects of Ron's actions here. BTW, the character of Vanessa Sy is mine...

**Chapter Four - Plots and Betrayal**

"What sort of money are _these?_" 

"They're play money - American dollars," Half-blood Slytherin Vanessa Sy explained for about the fiftieth time, snatching the colored dollar bills from Draco Malfoy's hands. Having been raised in the States for five years by a Muggle father, Vanessa brought three other Slytherins with her out to the Three Broomsticks to introduce them to the game of Monopoly. Despite being a pureblood, Draco had been intrigued by the idea of a game with buying all sorts of fancy property, so he relented. So did Pansy Parkinson - and, to Vanessa's surprise - Professor Snape.

Although they'd caught on quickly, the rules were not as simple as they thought they would be. For the past ten minutes, Draco had been driving Vanessa up the wall with questions about the money, the playing pieces, and how the houses and hotels looked like tiny Chinatowns. It was nothing short of a miracle that they had been able to start the game. While waiting for his turn, Draco was criticizing just about every point in the rule book.

"Like this one." Draco stabbed his forefinger at one of the paragraphs and read it out loud. "'A player can only build a hotel after having four houses on properties of the same color-group.' What the heck?" he scoffed, scrutinizing the miniature green and red structures with such distaste that one would think he was studying flobberworms. "It's not like a hotel is too expensive, anyway - reminds me of the time Father was looking for a cabin when we went on vacation to Hawaii - they were all different and Mother liked them all - we spent like the whole day trying to decide - " 

"Knowing your father, Mr. Malfoy, he would have simply rented all of them," commented Snape dryly, after having erected another set of houses on Boardwalk and Park Place. 

"He almost did, Professor, until Mother decided she wanted to go to Paris instead." Plucking up one of the houses, Draco held it up to his eye. "Come to think of it, one of the cabins there - Mother's twentieth choice - bears a striking resemblance to this..."

"All _right,_ I get your point," Vanessa snapped irritably. She handed the dice to Draco. "Now shut it, it's your turn."

"If you throw a three you will be my first customer in Park Place," pointed out their House Head matter-of-factly. Unbelievably enough, Snape was fairing the best among them - he already had three little green structures standing on the dark blue color-group - all of them seemingly staring at Draco with bated breath.

Draco shook the dice, rattled it up and over his head, dangled it in front of Vanessa's nose, then shook it again, in an undisguised attempt to annoy her.

"_Just throw it already!_" she shrieked, attracting a few curious stares from the surrounding tables. Whipping out her wand, she aimed a spell at the dice in his hand and cause it to clatter onto the board.

After shooting her one of his patented smirks, Draco chanted as the dice rolled unsteadily. "Two, two, two, two..."

The first die lay with one dot face-up... then the second read two - oh, _crap,_ add that up and you get - 

"Three... oh wow, lucky Drackie gets to spend the night in Professor's houses," Pansy said in a singsong voice that earned her a venomous look from the person in question. 

"Well, what do you know... my sincerest thanks, Mr. Malfoy..." With a triumphant, sardonic gleam in his dark eyes, the Potions Master planted the property card of Park Place in front of Draco and tapped his wand on the line that read the rent for three of those blasted houses... ironically, Snape knew something of the real-estate business as well, considering the amount of money he still had left and the number of houses standing not only on Boardwalk and Park Place, but also on the Kentucky Avenue and practically the entire green and orange group. Apparently, Severus Snape was not made head of the Slytherin house for nothing.

"Happy to oblige, Professor," Draco drawled, picking up the card, but not before he drew out his wand and prodded it, a mischievous glint in his silvery eyes. Then he handed a hundred-dollar bill to Snape.

"Excuse me? Mr. Malfoy, I may lack seriously in humor but certainly not in my arithmetic. I distinctly remember having read that the rent with three houses costs a thousand more than what you gave..."

Feigning surprise, Draco reread the property deed card, holding it about a centimeter from his nose. "Really? I don't know, Professor, the price is quite blurry... but I can make out a one... then a zero... then another zero..."

Snape merely raised an eyebrow that made Draco throw his hands up in defeat, gathering up his money and counting them off. "All right, all _right_... the teacher wins... but even if I gave you all my money I'll still be lacking two hundred!" 

"Maybe not if you sell me Marvin Gardens and the houses on it?" suggested Snape helpfully.

"But they're the ones fetching the most rent!" Draco whined in a very un-seventh year tone as he received Snape's payment for his only property with a hotel. He peeled off two hundred-dollar bills and returned it, mumbling incoherently. This was really bad... not only had he lost his most valuable property but he was also left with almost nothing.

"Never underestimate a Slytherin mind, Malfoy," advised Vanessa wryly as she retrieved the dice and rolled it.

"Daddy will not be happy," added Pansy, pointing at Draco's remaining money.

"Don't remind me," he said shortly. "He's already mad because we're down to third place in Quidditch next to Hufflepuff. 'Hufflepuff, Draco! _Hufflepuff!_ I can't believe you! Even your grandmother can fly better than that - gods - some Malfoy you are,'" he said in a perfect imitation of Lucius Malfoy not lacking the suggestively raised eyebrow and domineering sneer. Dropping the act, he leaned back on his chair. "I knew it was bad - Father never mentions Grandma unless someone pays him to."

Vanessa looked at him pointedly. "Well, it _was_ humiliating, you know," she said plausibly in the annoyingly reasonable tone that distinctly reminded him of Granger. "Considering you were up against a third-year Seeker - a _girl_ at that - bloody hell, Malfoy, we have to win against Ravenclaw by at least two hundred points to even _qualify_ against Gryffindor."

"It wasn't just any third-year Seeker," Snape informed them. "It was a friend of Charlie Weasley's - that Muggle-born Alexandra." Unlike before, when Snape used to spit out the name Weasley like watermelon seeds, there was little left in his voice that suggested his dislike for the family. Alexandra Masters had the intelligence and charm Snape never saw in any Weasley, and was Snape's top student in Potions. Other than the fact that she was consistently giving Hufflpuff rare Quidditch victories, there was little to hate in her.

Draco released his breath, blowing against the blond strands on his forehead. "Yeah, her. Damn, she's good."

Raising an eyebrow, Pansy collected her salary for passing Go, tsk-tsking at Malfoy in the process. "Really pretty too. Sir, you should have told Malfoy that Alexandra was a babe - then he wouldn't've been staring at her all throughout the match."

"Not to mention when the Snitch was practically poking him in the eye," Vanessa put in.

"I do _not_ fancy that Mudblood," Draco spat out as though the word left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Excuses, excuses."

All right - desperate times called for desperate measures - and even that was an understatement for Draco's situation now. And what he had was going to blow them all away, he thought, smiling shrewdly as he dug in his pocket for the rumpled piece of parchment he'd stuffed in there during Transfiguration.

If they wanted a solution to their Quidditch predicament, well then, here it was, jotted down about a million times in a scrap of paper he'd almost tossed carelessly out the window.

A sly, sneaky gleam glimmered in his eyes as he held the parchment up for them to see. "All right, blame me if you must. But don't go thanking me when I get Gryffindor to lose against Ravenclaw next week."

"The odds that Mr. Potter would lose against them are fairly small," Snape said ostensibly.

"Dearest Professor, have you no faith in me?" Draco asked melodramatically, clutching the paper to his chest as though Snape had stabbed him. He shook his head sorrowfully. "I didn't expect you'd find me incapable of getting them to trash the game."

Vanessa snorted. 

"With what?" Pansy asked almost smugly. "That old bit of parchment? What're you going to do, blindfold Potter so that he wouldn't see the Snitch?"

"Scoff if you will," Draco returned haughtily. "But you'll be on your knees thanking me when this little baby does its job."

"Let's see it then," said Vanessa impatiently, not noticing that Snape had just passed her property without paying rent.

With a grin that could have seriously alarmed a Gryffindor, a Hufflepuff, or a Ravenclaw, Draco slowly and deliberately smoothened the parchment on the table so that the countless words were exposed. For a while, Draco thought they were already at the same wavelength as he was, until Vanessa and Pansy howled with laughter. 

"Now I know why Malfoy doesn't want to sleep in Professor's property," Vanessa managed to choke out before cracking up again.

"I do _not_ fancy her!" 

"Malfoy and a Mudblood sitting on a tree," chanted Pansy and Vanessa in unison between fits of giggles. "K-I-S-S-I-N-G..."

"Grow up and shut it, will you?"

"Oh, that too mild?" Vanessa cleared her throat and nodded at Pansy, who was grinning fiendishly. "Malfoy and Granger sitting on a tree... F-U-"

"_Shut up!_" Draco yelled, looking ready to pummel them to the floor if it weren't for Snape clearing his throat for silence. At the sound of their House Head, all three of them quieted down instantly. Draco shot them one last poisonous glare, which they returned sweetly, before turning back to the professor.

"As I was _saying_ before you two so _rudely_ interrupted," Draco began, retrieving the parchment from the floor and flattening it face-up. "This isn't mine - I found it during our Transfiguration class under Potter's desk." 

"So your big discovery is that Potter fancies Granger," Pansy cut in. "That's old news, Malfoy. Why don't you just knock him off his broom on Monday and get it done?"

_Are Snape and I the only ones who aren't slow on uptake? _Tempering simmering under his cool exterior, Draco looked at her meaningfully. "Because, my dear," he said patiently. " - a cunning warrior attacks not the body, not the mind - but the _heart_." And if that explanation wasn't enough for them to figure it out, he was going to jump off Hogwarts' nearest staircase. 

Which he couldn't do. He wasn't going to die out before he made maximum use of what he saw what Weasley and Granger were getting at in the shadows of their common room. Their gullible hyperactive portrait had its uses after all...

"That was pretty lame," Vanessa said bluntly.

"Cliché as that sounded," Draco said smoothly. "It's going to win us the Cup and Potter off his high horse."

"You're going to _kill_ her?" 

"Don't be an idiot," he snapped. He took a deep breath to stop himself from screaming out for the whole pub to here just what he was planning to do. Didn't they see it? Potter was nuts about the Mudblood, and she and Weasley were taking their sweet time in the common room. Put those two together and shove it up Potter's Head Boy ass and he'd be running off screaming.

A true blue Slytherin plan, was what it was. "I'll tell you one more thing," Draco said mysteriously, leaning across the table. "I went up to the Gryffindor Tower to give Potter his precious little parchment - and maybe do some blackmail in the process - when I saw both of them. Weasley. Granger. And you'll never guess what they were doing." He paused, leaving them to fill in the blanks.

Vanessa seemed to be doing some thinking - at last. "Weasley has a thing for Granger, too, doesn't he? Wait a minute." Her pale blue eyes narrowed, then she snapped her fingers. "They weren't _snogging_, were they?"

"Touché."

Eyes sparkling, Vanessa's face spread into a wide grin. "Well... that clinches it. If Potter sees them at it - "

"Then he's gonna hit the roof! We'll be golden!" Pansy finished triumphantly.

_Finally!_ "By golly, did it take you long enough to figure it out!" Draco said gleefully, nearly prancing with delight. Everything was falling into place - within hours, Potter would be in pieces and the Quidditch Cup was as good as theirs. Mentally congratulating himself for cooking up such a brilliant scheme, Draco leaned back against his chair, pleased. It was sheer brilliance.

Even Snape had nothing bad to say for it, yet nothing good either. "My opinion is impartial as long as your little plan breaks no school rule."

"It _won't_," Draco said confidently. He checked his watch. "Now all we need is for Potter to show up and lead him right into our mouse trap."

"Speak of the devil," Vanessa whispered, pointing discreetly at the entrance of the Three Broomsticks. "Now's our chance. Step on it, Malfoy!"

All three of them sat up unusually straighter and crowded over the board game pretending to be completely immersed in it. Only Snape looked relatively the same - composed and unruffled - as Draco looked up as though he had just noticed Harry enter. "Hey, Potter!" he called, waving from their table.

Wearing the expression he'd worn when he, Granger, and Weasley lost a hundred and fifty points for Gryffindor during their first year, Harry looked up. "What is it?"

"Vanessa here is teaching us this _fascinating_ Muggle game, and we still have room for two," Draco answered brightly, kicking Pansy sharply under the table after she giggled. "The more the merrier, right? Call Granger or that Weasel and join us!"

"Thanks, but no thanks," muttered Harry, paying for a bottle of butterbeer and turning to leave.

For a while, Draco considered calling him by his first name, but he knew better. Naive as Potter was, he was not that stupid not to suspect that something was up. "Come now, Potter, don't be such a spoilsport!" Draco persisted. "Join us - it's Saturday tomorrow, anyway. Besides," he was struck by a sudden inspiration. " - the Quidditch _Finals_ are coming soon, you won't be able to relax during your practices, will you?"

Pansy and Vanessa nodded enthusiastically. Snape simply raised his eyebrows in agreement, obviously not jumping over the idea that Potter and his Gryffindor friends would be joining in.

Harry sighed, and Draco mentally pumped his fist in silent victory. "All right," Harry said. "You win." He headed towards the door, but not before he asked over his shoulder. "And by the way, you wouldn't know where Ron would be, would you?"

_Oh, you bet I do,_ he thought wickedly. This was the turning point - Draco could almost see the Cup dancing before his eyes. Lips spreading slowly into a smile, Draco nodded politely. "Of course, Potter," he said sweetly. "They're in your common room."

"Thanks." With that he disappeared.

When Harry was safely out of earshot, all of them burst out laughing. 

"That was the best bit of acting I've ever seen you do, Malfoy," remarked Vanessa between laughs, wiping tears from her eyes.

"Bloody brilliant - didn't even recognize you there."

Even Snape was chuckling. "I may have underestimated these - _abilities_ of yours, Mr. Malfoy," he said. "I must admit - it was quite impressing." Then his face became stern again. "Although I am expecting results from this just as much as you are, I advise you not to let winning the Quidditch Cup cloud your otherwise already incisive judgment." 

"You can count on it, Professor," replied Draco with an roguish wink behind his retreating back. He turned his attention back to their unfinished game. "So, whose turn is it?"

***

Harry left the Three Broomsticks, his cloak flying after him and a bottle of butterbeer clutched in his hand, surprised, if not suspicious, of Malfoy's sudden enthusiasm in inviting him to play with them. _They're all planning something,_ he thought as he ascended the steps to the Gryffindor Tower. The wide smiles on their faces, with the exception of Snape, who was perpetually impassive, gave him the immediate impression of three grinning Cheshire cats.

Then again, Malfoy had a point. The Quidditch Finals were drawing near, and so were their N.E.W.T.'s, and by then they'd have less and less time to do anything else. Despite the distrust he'd always harbored for Malfoy, he was a bit grateful for the break. Pacing around mulling about Hermione and the meeting - if it wasn't already canceled - they were supposed to have that night was not his ideal way of spending an otherwise perfectly good Friday afternoon.

Her accusing voice rang in his ears again, blaming him for being self-righteous and a dictator. Harry pondered on their argument more seriously. Maybe he _had_ been overly paranoid - it wasn't anything new that Ron and Hermione went to the Three Broomsticks together, just as he and Ron sometimes went without her. Only her unwillingness to let Harry know had told him that more had gone on during their drink than what Hermione's reluctant explanation had allotted to.

_I have to go apologize to her,_ he resolved. _She's under so much stress - I can't give her another problem to deal with._ He decided to find her in the common room, ask for her forgiveness, and then he and Ron could go down and join the Slytherins for Monopoly. 

Still, he couldn't help but be a little skeptical. Playing with three Slytherins - not to mention their House Head - required the same wariness one would need when entering the Forbidden Forest. Fortunately for him, he had vaguely heard of the game Monopoly from the years he'd spent with the Dursleys, and found playing it with Dudley just as tricky as playing with seventh-year Slytherins.

He reached the portrait hole bearing the painting of Lord Chandonier, Sir Cadogan's overly feisty second cousin and gave the ludicrously complicated password the painting had come up with yesterday. Lord Chandonier and his stallion were prancing ecstatically as though bursting to divulge classified information. He slid off his horse and brandished his sword at Harry's face, cackling insanely before jumping on and trotting off again.

"Are you going to let me in or not?" Harry asked him huffily.

Lord Chandonier put a finger to his lips, looking dreadfully serious albeit bearing an uncanny resemblance to Peeves the Poltergeist. "Nope. Not yet," he replied in a mysteriously low voice. 

Harry, however, was in no mood for games. "I gave you the password," he justified as patiently as he could. Honestly, he would take Sir Cadogan - or even Peeves - any day in exchange for this - this lunatic! 

"You're better off staying out here, Mister Head Boy, until _they're_ finished," answered Lord Chandonier happily, gesturing at something behind him with his sword.

"They?"

"Right - they've been at it for three minutes and thirty-six seconds already - I've been counting." He pointed at the grandfather clock somewhere in the background of the painting and cheerfully turned his back on a very pissed Harry again.

"_Who?_"

"Not telling!" he returned, obviously enjoying yanking Harry's chain.

Harry made a low, guttural sound somewhere in the vicinity of his throat that sounded unmistakably like cursing. "Fine - have it your way then," he sneered at Lord Chandonier's flouncing figure. "I'll be going - got to have a little chat with Sir Cadogan - don't worry, it'll only take a minute - "

The mention of his second cousin worked like magic, Harry noticed, pleased, as the taunting grin on Lord Chandonier's face shattered like glass as though Sir Cadogan's name pierced it with lasers. Apparently, even if in front of the likes of McGonagall he still managed to find some harebrained wisecrack, one of his few fears was his two-dimensional second cousin. He called at Harry's retreating back instantly. "All right, your lordship, get on in - just don't say I didn't warn you - "

Tossing him a flashy grin, Harry stepped through the portrait hole as Lord Chandonier bowed with a silly flourish. 

"Crazy git," muttered Harry under his breath as he passed the empty common room - or so he thought - until the soft rustle of the couch cushion got his attention.

What he saw made his heart stand still. Ron was there, all right - and so was Hermione. Neither of them noticed his arrival - for reasons that justified Malfoy's sudden invitation to playing Monopoly and Lord Chandonier's refusal to let him into the common room.

All thoughts of playing Monopoly, Malfoy, and Lord Chandonier fled his mind - nothing was left except the horrifying image before him - of lips against lips, fingers entwined, and the sigh that could only be described as passionate - from the two people whom he'd spent almost seven full years with.

Betrayal sank in with its painful, freezing jaws - that is, until Harry finally found the strength to speak.

"I hope I'm not interrupting something."

***

_Those who cannot tell what they desire or expect, still sigh and struggle with indefinite thoughts and vast wishes._

_-- Ralph Waldo Emerson_

His kiss was like wildfire, successfully sending her emotions on an untamed tailspin. 

Hermione's eyes, which had widened for a split second, fluttered close as Ron, hesitantly at first, closed the distance between their faces, mounting desire only too evident in his soulful expression. The tears she had shed seemed to fade away - as so did everything in the room - until all that was left was the two of them, their rapid heartbeats thundering in unison across the silence of the room, locked in another universe.

So many disagreements had sparked up during that week that she couldn't find the strength to resist and fight back the growing temptation to succumb to the deliciously intimate warmth he was all too willing to offer her. 

Somewhere along the line, she unconsciously responded, her mind hardly able to process the excited squeals Lord Chandonier was emitting.

Amidst the strange, unfulfilled bliss, however, incited an odd sensation that caused her eyes to fly open, and, for a second, she saw a scar jaggedly tracing the outline of a thunderbolt and a pair of emerald green eyes flash over Ron's features, so distinct that she'd only seen them on one person.

_Harry?_

And then it was over. The flames that had coursed through her blood and very soul extinguished, the pounding of her heart slowed, and her entire world exploded in a myriad of color, until everything was at rest. The electricity flickered and vanished, leaving her lips an icy cold. Suddenly, all she wanted was for Harry to come and they would work as the head students of the school as they always did before... 

Something in her conscious was murmuring his name in an urgent need, followed by a single whisper... a thought that flitted by as fast as it came.

_I need you._

Coming to a decision, she prepared to break away, thank him for his concern, and let him down. Nicely, of course. After all, it was nearing six o' clock and she had a promise - a meeting - to fulfill.

She raised her hands and rested them on his shoulders to push him away gently when footsteps resounded inside the room. The owner cast long shadows too distinct for Hermione not to recognize. The tall build, the patent untidiness of the hair... that could only be - 

"I hope I'm not interrupting something," the owner of the shadow said before Hermione could utter his name in surprise. His gaze was specifically locked on Hermione's hands, which were still resting on Ron's shoulders, obviously misinterpreting her intentions. As though burned, Hermione yanked her hands away and rose from the couch.

"Harry!" gasped Ron, getting to his feet as well.

Harry made no effort to hide the bitterness in his voice as he spoke to them, dripping with sarcasm. "Enjoying it, weren't you? I'd better get out, you two might want some privacy - ?"

"Listen, Harry, you don't understand - I can explain - " Hermione began, trying not to sound too guilty when her heart was shriveling in shame. How long had Harry been in there? How much had he heard? Difficult as it was to admit, a part of her savored the kiss, and, having assumed that the common room was empty, hadn't exactly been too discreet about it...

"You don't have to - I understand a lot better than you think," he interrupted sourly, putting up a hand to stop her flow of words.

"Harry, please, it was an accident - "

"An accident?" he repeated with much disbelief. "An accident that lasted almost five minutes, you mean...?"

Her heart sank at the obvious truth in Harry's accusation, pounding mercilessly against her ribcage. Hermione bit her lip. Had it really lasted that long? It was funny, how time worked. It was going at an alarmingly fast rate now, but it had seemed non-existent when Ron had swept her in his arms, murmuring her name in passion and reverence... Guilt swelled in her for the second time that day.

"No, Harry, don't take it that way..." she faltered, her voice trailing off as she glanced sideways at Ron, whose head was bowed ruefully.

_Damn you!_ she cursed him silently. He was the one responsible for getting her into this mess in the first place, yet he couldn't even utter a word in their defense. Well, she wasn't going to pick up the pieces of his irresponsibility. Not anymore.

"What way should I take it, then?" said Harry almost indignantly. "That both of you just thought all of a sudden 'I've got to go kiss someone'? If that madness is true, I'm going to jump off the nearest bridge. I'm not stupid, you know." He paused, staring at them as though they were strangers inside Ron and Hermione's shells. "And the Hermione and Ron I know aren't, either."

Despite the undeniable accusation, the remark had stung. "Are you saying that I go kissing any guy whenever I feel like it?" Hermione asked, her voice rising. "You don't own me, you don't have a say in what I do or how I do it. Think about what you're saying!"

"All I'm saying is that I've seen enough to prove why you guys didn't want me to come along yesterday," Harry said coldly. "I should probably leave the common room too if you don't want me here as well." He swept past them and disappeared into the boys' dormitory.

Staggering slightly, Hermione fell backward onto the couch, staring blankly at the closed door leading to Harry's room with wide, tear-brimmed eyes. A soft click told her that he had locked the door, as though wanting to shut them out completely. He had made up his mind... the trust he'd always kept for her shattering into pieces like a crystal vase, one which Hermione had no idea if she could still put together again. She and Harry rarely fought... she wasn't about to start now...

She was so suffused in her hundred different emotions ravaging inside her that she leaped back when Ron touched her arm gently. "There's nothing you can really do about him," he said softly.

Wrenching herself away from his touch, Hermione shrank into the opposite end of the couch, recoiling as if he'd burned her. How dare he speak in such a way, like it was her responsibility to patch things up when he had stood there idly while she desperately tried to explain? How dare he...

Rage crashed in like a tide. She did the only thing her mind could process right now. She lashed out at him, unmindful of the number of students slowly entering the common room.

"There's nothing _I_ can do? Nothing at all, after I stood there trying to let him understand while _you_ just acted like nothing happened? It's always me who always has to take care of everything, isn't it?"

He took a step backward once he realized the full extent of her temper. "I - I'm sorry - "

"_Sorry?_" she repeated, spitting the word out dripping with disdain. "All of this is your fault, and you're _sorry?_ I've just lost one of my best friends, Ron, you of all people should know that sorry is not going to get him back."

"I just - don't understand how - "

"Damn right you don't," she said fiercely, glaring at him stonily through eyes severely glittering with anger. "And I don't think we should still speak to each other until you do." Trembling with rage, she rose to her feet and stormed up the stairs to the dormitory, every bit of her anger punctuated with her sharp footsteps, wishing the ground would simply open and swallow her up.

The enormity was setting in, and all she wanted to do was curl up on her bed and never wake up again.

***

Simultaneously, Lord Chandonier was glaring crossly at the three people pressed against his precious painting. "What exactly are you three up to anyway?" he demanded. The head of his white horse bobbed up and down in agreement, whinnying at them irritably.

"Shut it, jackass, we're getting to the best part!" snapped Vanessa, scooting closer to Pansy and Draco, who had their ears pressed against the portrait.

Lord Chandonier snorted. "Ol' Snapey's gonna here about this, mind."

"So will Sir Cadogan is you don't clam up!" retorted Draco. Muttering something that sounded like "annoying brats" and "blabbermouths", Lord Chandonier and the stallion trotted away.

Seconds later, an infuriated shriek came from inside the room that was unmistakably Hermione, followed by loud, stomping steps, indicating that she'd left the room in a huff. 

Silence.

"Did you hear what I just think I heard?" whispered Pansy, positively writhing with restrained delight.

"I think so," replied Vanessa in a hushed voice just as awed.

And so did he. With a grin of smug satisfaction, Draco withdrew his ear away from the portrait, having heard exactly what he had expected. The mixed twinges of disbelief, betrayal, and jealousy in Harry's voice had been priceless. _Watch out, Gryffindors,_ he thought slyly.

_This is only the beginning!_

_***_

A/N:

I'm sorry for the long break... but anyway, Draco Malfoy makes his appearance! Especially for Rhygell, Draco-luva, and Diamond. ^^ Thanks a million for those who reviewed... couldn't have done it without you.


	5. Divide and Conquer

**Friends Forever**

_by Isys_

This is a rather sad chapter. Lots of angst and near-tears moments, so there won't be too much to laugh about here, though I'll try to add as much humor as the plot will allow. My dear Draco had just succeeded in his *brilliant* scheme, hasn't he? This chapter will cover just how much this is affecting them...

The unfamiliar Quidditch players belong to me. The other members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team have graduated, of course, we need new players. ^^

_This chapter is dedicated to a very special friend, who, after spending seven years with us, is being transferred to a new city upon appointment. ALS, wherever you are right now, this one's especially for you. Best wishes and God bless!_

**Chapter Five - Divide and Conquer**

The next few days were one of Harry, Hermione, and Ron's worst in Hogwarts, and every student and teacher who had known them personally felt the uneasy change. Although they still sat together during meals, it would have taken the Dark Lord to materialize before them and to start hexing them for them to speak to each other. It was strange, also, to see Hogwarts' Head Boy and Girl working as though they were from opposite ends of the country.

Perhaps the incident that spoke the loudest of their crisis was the Monday morning Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. The Gryffindor team, sensing their Seeker's obvious distress, had been more sober than usual, but they couldn't help worrying when Harry's problems became clear during practice Sunday, late afternoon. Lacking his natural take-charge manner, his usually enthusiastic eyes had been blank and he had missed the Snitch twice despite the fact that it was hovering a good two inches from his Firebolt 3000.

Things hadn't been any better for Ron, either. His fifth year had garnered him a place in the Quidditch team as a Beater along with Elisabeth Wood, Quidditich captain and Oliver Wood's sister. Another one of his close friends, Dean Thomas played too, as Chaser, and, like Harry during Ron and Hermione's bickering sessions, wasn't too adept at playing mediator between Harry and Ron. So when Elisabeth had called for a ten-minute break, Dean had gone to the other members of the team who were huddled together in one corner, leaving Ron and Harry to rot on the bench, sulking.

"I don't like this one bit," Dean heard Elisabeth say as he approached. "At this point even Hufflepuff could give us a run for the money."

"Don't say that," admonished the second Chaser, Ginny Weasley. "You've got to give them time to get over this."

"But not at the expense of the Quidditch Cup!" Elisabeth argued. "We _have_ to beat Ravenclaw by a wide margin. If Slytherin beats them - which _is_ highly likely - the Finals are going to be rough. They can't play in _that_ condition." She jerked her thumb over her shoulder, where Ron and Harry were sitting about a couple of meters apart. Ron was poking the end of his broomstick, a Valkyrie 007, on the ground while Harry was immensely concentrated on brushing dust from his already immaculate broomstick.

The third Chaser, reasonable and serious Leia Simmers, spoke up in her typical matter-of-fact voice that very poorly matched their situation. "We're not putting in a sub for them, if that's what you're saying," she told Elisabeth sensibly.

"Just because you fancy Potter doesn't mean we can't pull both of them out," Elisabeth disagreed.

The mention of Leia's attraction to Harry was a sore spot for her, especially knowing Harry's feelings for Hermione. Face flushed, Leia stepped forward and looked Elisabeth squarely in the eye. "This is the play-offs, Elisabeth! Harry's the best we've got for Seeker. Are you seriously considering replacing him with the reserve Seeker?"

"Seamus has less troubles with his love life, that's for sure," muttered Elisabeth to no one in particular. 

The other three members felt the familiar crackle of electricity building up between their two players. Being complete opposites - Elisabeth was sharp and outspoken while Leia witty and timid - most arguments tended to spark between them. Ironically though, they were roommates and utterly inseparable outside the Quidditch field. Today wasn't anything different. 

"You don't want him out just 'cause you _fancy_ him!" accused Elisabeth.

"I do _not._ He's the one who's got personal problems!" Leia said defensively. "You get them, too, admit it!"

"Fine, but I don't bring them to Quidditch, do I?"

Leia folded her arms in a gesture so reminiscent of Professor McGonagall. "Yeah? What do you call nearly knocking out Chris Parkers last year during our match against Ravenclaw because you heard him saying that he was bringing Parvati to the Yule Ball? The poor guy looked like a raccoon for weeks... having dark blue circles around his eyes - "

"I did _not_ knock him out," Elisabeth said, growing redder by the minute. "I'm a Beater, I'm supposed to hit Bludgers at everyone! Besides - " A derisive grin spread across her pouting lips. "I _did_ hit everyone, but I just thought that Chris looked more attractive with two black eyes instead of just one."

Forgetting the utter absurdity of the situation, their Keeper Sky Peterson jumped in, putting an arm around Leia's stiff shoulders as she was saying, "Oh? He'd probably look better if you broke both of his arms - "

"Or his head - " added Sky helpfully.

"Or you should have kicked him somewhere else lower - "

A wicked gleam in his light brown eyes, Sky delivered the final touch home. "It _is_ Quidditch - and his broomstick _is_ getting a little rusty - "

"YOU SICK SON-OF-A-" shrieked Elisabeth, who was positively redder than an overheating fire engine, loudly enough for Ron and Harry to glance up and stare in confusion. Before she could complete hurling the expletive at Sky and launching herself at his throat, Ginny sharply intervened, holding back her clenched fists. 

"Bastard," Elisabeth muttered darkly under her breath before lowering her hands.

Sighing, Ginny stepped forward and put an arm around each of their shoulders - Elisabeth's trembling, furious ones and Leia's, which were shaking with suppressed laughter at Sky's "broomstick" comment. "All right, why don't we take it this way," she suggested optimistically. "We still have a good chance at the Quidditch Cup even if we lose tomorrow's game. Allow Harry and Ron to play, but if their - er - _funny_ business makes us lose - "

" - then we're going to McGonagall," finished Dean. He nodded. "Sounds like a good plan to me."

"Yeah, me too, I guess," agreed Leia reluctantly.

"Lis?" Ginny turned to Elisabeth, who, if looks could kill, could have reduced Sky to a puddle of glop on the ground. 

"Only if you can get this git out with them as well," she said grumpily.

"Hey, I haven't said I'm taking them out already," said Ginny, resisting the urge to laugh at the very childish sneer on Elisabeth's lips. "Come on, Lis, please?" She fluttered her eyelashes for added measure, as it had been Elisabeth herself who'd told her that she looked extra pretty and convincing while batting her eyelashes. Ginny didn't know for sure if it was working right now - everyone seemed to fall for it, yet Elisabeth was strangely immune, glaring at Sky with all the ferocity of an angry Hungarian Horntail.

Whether Sky was dense or just extremely stupid to be standing up to Elisabeth's volatile temper, Ginny had no idea.

When Elisabeth didn't answer, Ginny wheedled, "Please? I'll give you a cookie..."

Elisabeth sighed. "Then it had better be a big one," she grumbled, tearing her lethal stare from Sky for the first time in minutes. "Fine, have it your way, then. But don't blame me if Harry starts crying or something in the middle of the match." With one last glare for Sky, she stalked off, her nose in the air.

Had Ginny known what would happen the next day, she would've have been strongly inclined to take Elisabeth's side. Monday morning greeted them with a clear, cloudless blue sky which fitted perfectly with the noisy enthusiasm of the crowd. Across the Quidditch field, their blue-and-bronze-clad opponents were murmuring among themselves. And while Elisabeth was giving her team last-minute pep talk, Harry and Ron's eyes were flickering blankly over the stands, as if searching for someone.

"Hey!" said Elisabeth sharply, gesticulating wildly in front of their faces with a manic, frenzied look she could have only inherited from her brother, Oliver. "Have you two listened to a word I said?"

"Wha-?"

"Did you say something?"

"Obviously not," Elisabeth grumbled, throwing her hands up in defeat. She turned her scarlet-cloaked back on Harry and Ron's mute forms to face the rest of the team. "All right, guys, listen up," she said, narrowing her eyes at her Seeker and Beater over her shoulder. "I have a feeling those two won't be much help. So you three - " she pointed a stern finger at her Chasers Leia, Dean, and Ginny. " - just - I don't know - score as often as you can. We need those points if we can't get the bloody Snitch. Knock the Keeper off his broom if you have to." Out of the corner of her eye, she was flinging poisonous looks at the Ravenclaw Keeper, who was none other than - 

"Chris Parkers?" Leia asked innocently.

Elisabeth glared at her. "Yeah. Him. And _no,_ you don't have to blackmail him into asking me to the graduation ball," she added hastily, noticing Leia's mischievous expression.

"And _you_." She whirled to face Sky. "Stay off my turf and just do your job. For every time the Quaffle gets through - " Elisabeth made a slashing motion at her neck.

Fighting a strong urge to salute, Sky nodded. "Yes, Lissy."

"That's _Captain Elisabeth_ to you," she snapped before snatching up her broom just as Seamus Finnigan's magically amplified voice rang across the field.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" came his voice over the vivacious shouting of the crowd. "WELCOME TO THE HOGWARTS QUIDDITCH PLAY-OFFS!"

Cheers, encouraging shouts, and thunderous applause and foot stamping came in reply.

"Let me give a recap of how the houses stand." An enormous billboard was conjured to hover just above the center of the field where Madame Hooch was waiting to release the balls. In black curving letters, the houses and their corresponding points looped into view: in first place, Gryffindor, followed by Hufflepuff, Slytherin and Ravenclaw.

"I can't believe Ravenclaw still has a chance to beat us," hissed Leia at Dean.

Dean motioned to the other side of the field, where a tall, intimidating seventh year stood, staring around impressively in a manner so reminiscent of Percy Weasley. "That's 'cause they played last time with their reserve Seeker... and now that their first is back - "

"That's not Jim Edymeire," Ginny suddenly cut in. "It's Chris Parkers."

"That's him?" Dean said disbelievingly. Elisabeth looked strangely small and timid next to Chris' imposing figure that it was impossible to think of her inflicting even a scratch on him. "The one who Lis killed last year?"

"Yeah," came Elisabeth's crisp reply, her dark eyes promising something like glittering, threatening revenge that it was almost terrifying. Her grip on her broomstick tightened visibly, as though it was Chris's own neck. "And, by golly, will I do it again if I ever have the chance."

"Whoa," Dean whispered back at Leia, gesturing at Elisabeth, who was practically itching to fly into the field. "This Chris must be senselessly brave or just plain stupid to go against Lis like that."

"Stupid is more like it," Leia muttered.

Finally, Seamus signaled the players to take their positions. Elisabeth, who was tapping her foot impatiently, whizzed out into the field so suddenly that her body seemed to blur for an instant. The four other players flew out after her until only Harry and Ron were left, still staring vacantly over the stands and fiddling with their broomsticks.

"_Potter! Weasley!_" Elisabeth yelled from an estimate of thirty feet above them, almost falling out of her broom. "What the hell do you think you're waiting for?!"

After they hurriedly made it outside, the match proceeded as it always did, except that two of the Gryffindor team were strangely inert. Still, despite their inactiveness, the three Chasers did their job remarkably well, distracting the Keeper long enough to put in the Quaffle again and again. While Elisabeth aimed every Bludger that flew her way straight at the Ravenclaw Chasers, forcing their close formations to scatter at every turn, Leia, who was part-veela and had the charisma and beauty of a pure one, was busy keeping Chris Parkers at bay.

However, Ron was having as much difficulty doing his job as a Beater as Neville would have had holding his wand at the right end. More than twice, he'd hit a Bludger right at his own teammates, knocking the Quaffle from their grasps, earning venomous looks from Elisabeth.

"_Weasley!_ Are you playing for this team or what?" shrieked Elisabeth as his Bludger smashed into Chris' mid-section, granting a penalty to Ravenclaw.

Ron didn't seem to hear her.

Harry wasn't fairing any better. Already the Snitch grazed his elbow and ear, but his gloomy green eyes were seeking something outside the field. For a while, Ginny studied him and tried to follow his gaze until it came to rest upon - Ginny squinted in the sunlight, trying to make out the chestnut-colored head bowed discreetly amidst the scarlet crowd.

It was Hermione. She was unusually subdued, her eyes carefully averted. Before she could ruminate on this further, Dean hurled the Quaffle at her, and she zoomed off for the Ravenclaw side.

Seamus was commentating, oblivious to his house team's apparent strange behavior.

"Thomas passes to Weasley Number Two - off she goes - right past Ravenclaw Beater André - _Parkers, here she comes_ - Weasley scores! Seventy-ten to Gryffindor!"

Cursing Leia while she winked at him, Chris returned to his position, flying so close to the hoops that he could have hugged it if he wanted to.

Meanwhile, Harry was hovering motionlessly in mid-air, shooting the Ravenclaw Seeker irate looks as he circled him like a vulture upon its prey. Eager to get away from his snickering eyes, Harry plunged downwards sharply, hurtling at an alarmingly fast rate towards where Hermione was sitting. The ground was getting nearer - closer... closer... For a split second, Harry took his eyes off the end of his broom to glance at Hermione's appalled expression.

It was all the time needed for him to crash headlong into Dean, who was flying from side to side with the Quaffle trying to throw Chris off-course. While Harry tried to recover his bearings, the ball flew out of Dean's hand, and Dean, uttering a strangled cry, plummeted to the ground about twenty feet below...

"_Impedimenta!_" 

Elisabeth's spell hit Dean's descending body, slowing him down until she flew under him and guided him to the ground. A time-out was called after Dean was safely back on his feet and broom.

"What the _hell - _ouch!" Stunned, Seamus had to be slapped hard by McGonagall for him to continue. "All right - sorry, Professor, but that hurt - okay - time-out called by Gryffindor captain Wood as Potter tackles Thomas off his broom - "

Elisabeth's enraged voice drowned out Seamus' before she could contain herself. 

"_Pot-ter!_" she screeched, jabbing her forefinger on his chest. "Just what the bleeding _hell_ were you thinking?! If you're going to show off or something by diving like Dumbo you should at least _know_ where the ground is! Do you know what this can earn you? You've been a zombie for more than half the game - I can suspend you for this!"

"He didn't mean it," put in Ron blandly. Harry's head jerked up in surprise - it was the first time that Ron had defended him in over twenty-four hours.

"Didn't mean it, my arse!" hollered Elisabeth, virtually shaking with anger and scowling at Ron. "Don't you try and get on my bad side, carrot-top, I've got half a mind to suspend you, too."

"What did _I_ do?"

"NOTHING!" Elisabeth bellowed. "And that's the reason why!"

Leia grabbed her arm, restraining her from pounding Ron to the ground, and whispered urgently, "Lis, calm down. People are beginning to stare." Behind them, the several hundred gathered watching were gawking, hushed, at Elisabeth's outburst.

She gave them nothing more than a snort. "THEN LET THEM!" Elisabeth said angrily, wrenching herself from Leia's grip.

"Edymeire's about to catch the Snitch," Leia continued, her hold tightening on Elisabeth's forearm. "Ravenclaw's going to win by almost a hundred points, Lis - we can't have that - "

All the color seemed to drain from Elisabeth's flushed face as the truth seemed to dawn on her slowly, and she sighed wearily. "All right," she said, raising her hands in surrender. "Just let go, Leia, we've got a game to play - " She was almost ready to signal the end of their time-out when she suddenly faced Ron and Harry fiercely. "And you two had better shape up - or else."

"Right, captain," Ron and Harry mumbled under their breaths and prepared to mount their brooms.

It was rapidly turning to be one of the most desperate games Gryffindor had to play. By nature, none of them ever had to resort to violent measures to win a Quidditch match, and they weren't eager to change that. And, difficult as it was for Elisabeth to admit, Sky was doing an incredible job defending the Gryffindor side - no Quaffle seemed to dare to approach it. The one person whom Elisabeth kept a particularly close watch on was Ravenclaw Seeker, hitting every Bludger that flew past towards him. 

The release of her pent-up fury seemed to have struck everyone on the team - Harry was squinting for the Snitch a lot more, Ron's fiery, forceful Beater nature was back, and Dean was recovering quickly from the disorientation he got from the crash. Elisabeth grinned as Gryffindor pulled forward another thirty points, making the score one hundred-ten in favor of Gryffindor. She was beginning to relax when the Ravenclaw Seeker soared upward unexpectedly. Harry, who was flying at the opposite end of the field, didn't notice him.

"_Harry!_" Ginny was screaming, waving wildly at the little speck in the sky that was Jim.

Muttering what was unmistakably a swear word, Harry shot upward after him. Elisabeth bit her lip. It was nearly impossible for Harry to overtake him, even with his Firebolt, as Jim was way ahead of him. Ron, in a desperate attempt to distract him, whacked a Bludger at their direction as hard as he could -

To Elisabeth's horror, the Bludger caught Harry's broomstick instead of Jim's. Harry's broom was thrown off-course, and, in a matter of seconds, Jim let out a victorious cheer and flew back down, waving the Snitch triumphantly in the air.

The Gryffindor team was stunned almost to the brink of paralysis, hovering motionless on their brooms and staring at the celebrating Ravenclaw team with something akin to shock. They barely heard Seamus' defeated voice as he announced the scores: one-hundred to one-hundred-sixty.

It was when they were safely back on the ground did all their frustrations come out. "We... lost?" Leia said impassively, raising her trembling hands to her lips.

"Tell me I'm dreaming," begged Ginny to herself, desperately pinching her arm to see if she was truly awake.

Elisabeth was aghast, the twisted expression on her face unreadable. The makings of a bomb explosion was slowly revealing itself on her shaking, stiff figure. She seemed at loss for words, trying to rein in the jumble of emotions struggling inside her.

"Well," sighed Sky, slipping an arm around Ginny. "I guess every team has an off-day once in a while..."

Dean nodded dejectedly. "We did our best." Leia couldn't help noticing that his voice wavered slightly over the word "we".

Scowling, Elisabeth finally spun around to face them. It was terribly likely of Sky to find a stupid, annoyingly practical excuse for their defeat, but to hear someone as usually positive as Dean joining him was too much for her to take. She couldn't believe how little was getting through their thick heads. They had _lost!_ Lost, for the first time in her damned life, an incredibly crucial Quidditch match, and they were passing it off as an off-day. Elisabeth, for once, didn't know who to put the blame on - her teammates for having such lousy team spirit, or Ron and Harry for practically _giving_ away their victory.

"'We did out best,'" she said mockingly. "Save it for your mother, Thomas! We _lost_. That's not our best."

And she ran off without another word, and, to Leia's dismay, headed to where an astounded Professor McGonagall stood.

The rest of the Gryffindor team stood there noiselessly, the scathing atmosphere of defeat lingering in the air among them, for ten grueling minutes until Elisabeth returned, her hair disheveled and the expression in her eyes unfathomable. 

Everything became painfully clear to the team - except Harry and Ron - when Professor McGonagall approached quietly and Elisabeth motioned for Leia to come over. After comprehending what Elisabeth and their House Head had whispered into her ear, Leia, her face growing paler than it usually was, nodded mutely as they left, leaving her to face her team's expectant looks.

"You can all go," she finally managed to say. "Harry, Ron - please stay."

Giving their Seeker and Beater sympathetic looks, the other players wordlessly slipped away.

"None of them must've told you guys," she began when they were alone. "what Lis was planning to do with you two, seeing what happened yesterday and during the game."

Harry was the first to speak for them both. "Leia, look, we're sorry," he said. "We never meant for anything like this to happen - this is the first time - "

"That's right," she interrupted gently. "This is the first time you've ever let the team down, and that's why it was worrying Lis a lot. You know her, she has the tendency to go overboard sometimes, quite a lot like her brother, but she generally means well."

"So - what's she going to do?" Ron asked anxiously, his knuckles going very white as he gripped his broomstick tightly. "What was McGonagall doing there?"

Leia took a deep breath. It wasn't easy letting them down - they were talented players and a valuable asset to the team. However, significant as they were, they wouldn't be any help if a replay of that day's match ever took place. And Harry - she would miss him terribly. But, as Elisabeth had told her, it was for their own good. For the good of the team. Yet, more than anything, Leia wished that none of this had ever happened.

"I wish I could do something to change their minds, but it's not in my hands anymore," she told them, trying to keep her voice as steady as possible. "But Elisabeth and McGonagall was firm about it. You guys screwed up. And in a very important game, too, might I add."

"You're not saying - Leia - oh, _no_ - " Ron looked at her desperately. "Please don't say they're - "

Struggling to fight back her tears, Leia bit her lip, drowning helplessly under their urgent gazes. "I don't know any other way to break this to you guys, but there's nothing I can do. The most I can hope for that this will end soon enough before the finals." 

"What exactly - do you mean by 'will end'?" Harry asked, fearing the worst, especially he had the sinking feeling that he already knew the answer. 

"Exactly what you're probably thinking," Leia said quietly. "I'm sorry, guys, but it's been done. You have to be temporarily replaced."

***

While her two best friends - or the people who had once been her best friends - were at the Quidditch field, Hermione was in the library, drowning her sorrows in what she did best - study. Books on just about every field of magic she could think about were piled high on her both sides like two crumbling walls, where Ron and Harry usually sat when the three of them studied together - Hermione diligently poring over her pages and pages of notes while the other two decided which hex would be best to hit Snape with if he ever gave detention again for breaking Potion bottles. (A/N: Ron broke one, remember?)

Instead, she was stuck between silent stacks of teetering books which looked nothing like Ron and Harry, sitting in the very desk where she and Ron had talked before going over to the Three Broomsticks.

Despite her anger at them - Harry for being so overbearing and Ron for taking her by surprise - she couldn't help missing them both, for obvious reasons. She had her girlfriends - but it just wasn't the same. It was only with Harry and Ron could she lower her guard completely.

_Funny that it's when you lose someone do you realize how important they are..._

The one bright spot about everything was that, without her two best friends "studying" with her, she got more work done. Study sessions with Ron and Harry generally meant joking, teacher-bashing, and petty exchanges of insults back and forth. Not to mention Ron's constant pestering for her to teach him animal Transfiguration, and Hermione could almost see him itching to repeat history and turn Malfoy into a ferret and bounce him across the Quidditch field.

"Please, pretty please, Herms, just help me, I can't get the wand thing right," he was wheedling after accidentally turning Harry's ears to three-foot horns.

"You should have listened to McGonagall," Hermione had snapped back, waving her wand sharply to return Harry's ears to normal. Then would come Ron's usual banters and complaints about their House Head, and before you know it, the library would soon close, forcing Hermione to bring her unfinished work back to the zoo which was the Gryffindor common room.

She smiled briefly, before her lips tightened to the grim line it had adopted for the past few days. With her quill poised over a fresh piece of parchment, she flipped through the pages of one of the books she'd selected, opening it to the page bearing the copyright date.

There it said, in fading blue letters: _Copyright © 1897_

Mumbling unintelligibly, Hermione closed it, wondering what in the world possessed her to take a book published during a time when wizards were probably still researching what a cauldron was for. She stood up grudgingly to return it to the shelf, just beside the volume Ron himself had taken out days before: _Famous Figures in Potion-Making History_ by Sir Marthon Stewars. She squeezed her book in, but it wouldn't agree with the tight spot.

"There's - something - in here," she grunted, digging into the shelf to remove the object wedged into the enclosure. When she finally yanked it out and replaced it with the 1897 book, she let out a sharp gasp as her eyes fell on the title printed on its front cover.

It was a very old, very battered portfolio, with the pieces of parchment inside yellow with age and poorly bound together, in a surprising contrast to the other books on the shelf, which were in relatively good condition. What was more surprising was what was written in the center in bold cursive.

_The Unforgivable Curses_

A few lines below that was printed: _A Thesis Written In Partial Fulfillment of the Seventh Year Course by Tom Marvolo Riddle_

Despite the suspicious, nagging feeling prickling at her spine, Hermione returned to her seat and cautiously opened the portfolio, watching in horrifying fascination as the cracked pieces of parchment slid out, filling the air with an ancient, musty smell. As she saw the first page, Hermione figured out at once why the soon-to-be Dark Lord's thesis was kept in the library - a grade of one-hundred-seventeen per cent was stamped on the old paper. In spite of the unexplainable hatred she felt towards Tom Riddle, she was impressed by his work. The thesis was lengthy and detailed to perfection, hence the well-deserved grade and the display in the library.

With growing interest, she scanned the next page, a two-page long table of contents. The completion was impeccable, containing painstakingly researched information about each of the Unforgivable curses, including their history and effects, plus unknown effects he had theorized. 

And in the bottom of the page was the topic she'd looked so far to find, titled _"Imperio: Knowing Between the Cursed and the Uncursed"_.

"This is it," she whispered joyfully, her trembling hands reaching for her quill and parchment. She was eagerly skimming the paragraphs when her roommates Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil poked their heads around the shelves.

"Mione!" Parvati called. "The Quidditch match is starting in five minutes! You coming or what?" Uncertainty tinged her voice as she knew about Hermione, Harry, and Ron's recent situation.

_The Quidditch game - Ravenclaw vs. Gryffindor - oh, right._ Hermione sighed and closed the portfolio. Harry and Ron had been talking about nothing else for the past few days, as the match would be deciding the upcoming championships, and Hermione had promised she would come at all costs. But under their present circumstances, what could possibly happen? What would her presence in the game cause?

Nothing drastic, she hoped. She nodded her head enthusiastically at Parvati. "Of course I'm coming, just let me get this thing checked out. Go ahead without me."

Parvati and Lavender's nervous faces broke into relaxed smiles. "'Kay, Mione, we'll save you a seat," Lavender said before they flounced out of the library.

The Quidditch field was full to bursting when Hermione got to her seat. She'd left her school bag inside her next class, but she was hugging Riddle's thesis to her chest. She didn't know why the tingling feeling inside her insisted to carry along the portfolio when the rest of her things she left behind, but she'd felt an unknown attraction to it the second she laid her eyes on the title, a strange power beckoning to her silently.

The reasonable, logical side of her was frantically warning her that there was something terribly wrong with the thesis, that there was dark magic embedded in it, but the innate power of the book easily overcame it. Her hands felt odd and cold whenever she released it.

She was examining it when Seamus' voice carried over. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WELCOME TO THE HOGWARTS QUIDDITCH PLAY-OFFS!"

She was feeling strangely distant as the opposing sides flew into the field. She strained to look up and watch, but her eyes seemed to be drawn right back to the crackling pages of the portfolio. A warm surge of release flowed through her body at every word she read. She didn't even look up when Gryffindor scored their first goal.

Minutes later, a whooshing sound caught her ears and her head snapped up for the first time since the game began.

Harry had gone into a steep dive, hurtling alarmingly fast towards where she sat. A terrified expression replaced the glazed look in her eyes as he drew nearer...

... and crashed into Dean Thomas, unseating the Chaser, as the field erupted into oh's and ah's of surprise. Hermione, however, was undisturbed. She merely returned to reading, while somewhere in the field she could hear Elisabeth Wood's outraged yells. Normally, she would have looked on curiously, but the portfolio before her caught her eyes in a mysterious, unearthly spider web.

_Throw it away!_ her mind was screaming. _It's obviously stuffed full of Dark Magic - tear it - destroy it - chew it up if you have to - _

Finally, she managed to slam it shut and sit on it, her body shaking with mixed fright and desire. With wide, dilated eyes, she stared blankly as the game resumed and Gryffindor scored three more goals.

Then Ravenclaw got the Snitch - and won the game. Cheers erupted from the Ravenclaw side, mingling with the groans from the Gryffindors. Grabbing the portfolio from under her, Hermione stood up mechanically and pushed her way past towards where the defeated Gryffindor team was standing. She didn't know why she was heading there, but she always joined Ron and Harry and the rest of them after Quidditch matches - fight or no fight. Just as she was about to reach them, Leia Simmers was having a grave conversation with Ron and Harry.

Instinctively, she remained where she was, listening to every word in the serious exchange.

"I wish I could do something to change their minds, but it's not in my hands anymore," Leia was saying sadly. "But Elisabeth and McGonagall was firm about it. You guys screwed up. And in a very important game, too, might I add."

Hermione heard Ron bristle slightly, and she felt her insides knot into bunches and her hands tightened reflexively over the portfolio she was clutching. This didn't sound good at all. She had to admit that neither Ron nor Harry played very well during the game, but - 

"You're not saying - Leia - oh, _no_ - " Ron said, his voice breaking. "Please don't say they're - "

She saw Leia nod helplessly. "I don't know any other way to break this to you guys, but there's nothing I can do. The most I can hope for that this will end soon enough before the finals." 

"What exactly - do you mean by 'will end'?" Harry's nervous voice came in, and Hermione could see that his face had gone a chalky white. She squeezed her eyes shut, holding her breath to wait for the obvious bad news.

"Exactly what you're probably thinking," Leia replied quietly. "I'm sorry, guys, but it's been done. You have to be temporarily replaced."

_Oh, my God._ Hermione's mouth dropped open as Harry and Ron nodded mutely and left, their shoulders drooping and their brooms trailing sadly after them. She bit her lip, wishing she could go and comfort them, like they always did for her. But then she remembered - they probably wouldn't want to go anywhere near her after what had happened. A hot tear slid down her cheek, staining the front cover of the portfolio. Being on the outs with her friends always made it feel like something was missing.

***

_Last update: May 30, 2002_

A/N: 

1. ::sob:: I can't believe it - this has been a hard chapter to write. ::collapses over keyboard:: And it's all Malfoy's fault!!

2. Disclaimers: the expression "carrot-top" comes from Archie comics, and Ron's broom, the Valkyrie 007 was partially taken from FF8 (one of Rinoa Heartilly's weapons was a Valkyrie).

3. Most of you must have expected Harry to be Quidditch captain, but he is already Head Boy and I think making him captain as well is a little bit too much responsibility for one to handle. It wouldn't be very nice to hear if the captain had been suspended. Besides, Elisabeth seems to be up for it, considering she's Oliver Wood's sis and all... ^^ 

4. I just realized I made a minor error in the second and third chapter. The Three Broomsticks is in Hogsmeade, and a _train_ is needed to go to Hogsmeade. They can't simply walk back and forth from the castle like I had thought. So, for the purpose of this story, just imagine that Three Broomsticks is as far away from Hogwarts as the Quidditch field or something like that...

**Emili Potter** - About your question regarding the relevance of the Julius Caesar quote to Hermione's situation... "Et tu" translates into "You too", right? Remember, she's got Harry falling over her feet already. ^^ Then Ron comes along and does the same thing. "You too?" Is it clearer now? ^^ Forget the "Brute/Brutus" part; it doesn't play any role.

**Sandy** - Thanks for the e-mail; I really appreciate your comments on my fic. In response to your questions, yes, I have decided on a pairing already. In fact, I have the whole story planned out and written on paper. Whoever Hermione ends up with will appear at the very last chapter, and I will consummate this relationship in a sequel (that is, if I still find time to write it). You're right - Ron is like her big bro and Harry is... well... let's just say that there are bigger possibilities of Hermione's relationship with Harry to grow to something more. They *are* the head students of the school after all... and have spent loads of time together.

**CryingCinderella** - Thanks for the e-mail and recommendation. I'll take the time to read your fic, I promise. I just came home from a long out-of-town trip, and I had to finish this up and get it posted asap. Snape/Hooch... wow, that _is_ unique. I've never read one before...

**Dearest ****Electra - **Lots of thanks, as always. Yep, Malfoy is evil, and it's one of the things I *love* about him! Well... this chapter answers one of your questions: the Gang of Three has to break up for a while. And the McGonagall-Hermione situation still needs fixing... but I'll leave that for later. I changed your mind about romance fics? I'm flattered... thanks!

**Alchemine** - Thanks so much for the compliment on the student romance fics. I'm a total rookie at it since I generally prefer the action, adventure, and angst type, this is a first. Hehheh, I liked the Monopoly scene a lot too... one of the reasons why I added it, not only for a little comic relief, but to put Snape in... ^^

A million hugs and kisses too to Dee Dee, Charms, Vixen (Is Anima finished already?), Audioman, Evenstar, Diamond, Bubblegum babe, Tina, lbj, Liberty, Gen, and WeatherWitch (Post the next chapter of "Snake... Lion" please? ^^). Review again, ne? I love each and everyone of them!


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